


You Do Count

by sarahouse85



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, Lestrolly, M/M, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, johnlolly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 82
Words: 195,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahouse85/pseuds/sarahouse85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know Molly Hooper helped Sherlock fake his death...this picks up after the fall. Major Johnlock in later chapters, small Sherlolly, small Johnlolly....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The last of the people were filing out of the hospital morgue office as Molly finished her paperwork and began to shuffle the many papers into their manilla envelope to send for filing. "Need anything else Ms. Hooper?" the medical examiner asked as he gathered his coat and headed towards the door. Molly shook her head solemnly and gathered the manilla envelope to her chest a little closer.

"I believe that will be it. I've just got to get this turned in before I leave and I'll be off." She hurried through the sentence, ready to be done with the entire situation. The man lowered his head momentarily and offered up his condolences.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your friend, Molly." He nodded an apology and, applying his coat, left out through the morgue office door without another word. Molly stared after him for a moment longer before releasing a sigh of relief. She had hardly noticed that she was holding her breath. Quickly she gathered her lab coat up and applied it before hurrying down the hallway towards the frigid morgue rooms. Her comforting, silent, lonely morgue rooms where she could think to herself without having to explain her inner monologue to anyone. Her ponytail bounced behind her as she quickened her pace, she grasped the manilla folder to her bosom almost in fear of losing the contents. She turned corner after corner before slamming through the swinging metal door of the St. Barholomew's morgue doors.

Here she paused for a moment. The body was still on the slab, covered in the white crispness of sheet, the slender outline of a body glimpsed underneath. The face of the sheet was slightly reddened from congealing blood. Molly approached slowly, pausing long enough to lay the folder on the desk beside the door. You do count...his words echoed in her ears. You've always counted and I've always trusted you...Her eyes never left the body as she approached, her heels clacking almost deafeningly against the cold morgue walls as she came nearer and nearer. What do you need? Her own voice echoed in her mind, asking Sherlock, pleading with him to tell her what he would require. He never had once glanced in her direction except to ask her for a body, or paperwork, or something else only a postmortem morgue worker would be able to get their hands on...but that one moment when he had confided in her, only her... I think I'm going to die...

What do you need?

You.

Molly's heart beat ever faster as she came to the slab and raised a hand towards the corpse that lay there under that white stiff sheet. Movement in the corner of the room, towards the back where the curtain had been drawn. She caught her breath for a moment at the sight of it. "It's clear I think. All the press is gone." She glanced back towards the corpse and shrugged her shoulders in a melancholy mood.

"And the medical examiner?" The deep voice echoed on the white walls and steel metal holdings of the room. Someone shifted on a metal gurney behind the curtain. Shoes on cold tiled floor.

"Yes. Just left. Made sure I had everything noted in the file and signed off before he left. I believe we're clear." Molly leaned on the slab, feeling a strange mixture of relief, exhaustion, and sickness drop into her stomach like a stone and flood her veins like a drug. The curtain ruffled, and soon the tall, slender frame of Sherlock Holmes emerged, buttoning his jacket over his shirt as he did so. He approached the body with a calm and almost curious demeanor. Molly watched him, the feeling still consuming her to an almost overwhelming point.

"May I see?" He asked, his baritone voice low and full of some unspeakable cover for an emotion that would never become Sherlock. Molly lifted back the sheet, revealing the face of a man that now, as she thought about it, did not even come close to the cheekbones, the curly auburn hair, or the prominent chin of the consulting detective that stood opposite her alive and well. Thankfully for Sherlock's friends in the 'homeless network', as he had so named it that were among the bystanders on the street, John had thankfully not gotten a decent look at the face of his supposive fallen friend as he neared him. The blood distributed on the corpse's face had helped some as well as the blunt trauma from the short drop he received from the back of the garbage truck that had caught Sherlock as he fell.  
Sherlock looked over the corpse, deep in thought, but Molly could only keep her eyes on him. Not hours ago, this man, this genius man she fancied but who had no longing for her had come to her in his hour of need and asked for her help. He had told her of his problem, of his impending death, of the foreshadowing doom that had crept over his usual confident demeanor and had asked for her help. She had complied, as the thought of losing her friend was almost too much to bear. She and Sherlock discussed how to falsify the records, how to find a convincing body a la Irene Adler, among other things. After being thoroughly convinced that Molly could hold her end he had then contacted his many acquaintances within the homeless network and set up his suicide.

Sherlock eyed her careful stare and covered the corpse's face with the sheet once more. "What is it Molly?" He looked tired, burdened, sad. She shook her head at first, her ponytail swaying quickly back and forth. He passed by her, pacing, once again onto something new within that genius skull of his. Molly noted the limp.

"You're hurt." She spied the limp much to Sherlock's distaste. He stopped by the desk and grabbed the manilla folder and opened it to study the contents. He said nothing. She approached and dropped to the floor to pull up his trouser leg. He glanced down at her with a furrowed brow of confusion but could not pull away, as Molly took hold of his right leg and studied it. "You've injured yourself in the fall."

"Nothing to worry about." He shook free of her grasp and continued to look at the folder in thought. "I hit the target as expected. Any fall from that height is bound to leave some type of injury. A contusion or a sprain, a few scrapes here and there, nothing to go on about." He scoffed. "Obviously." Molly rose and left him to his studying. She went about to gather her coat from the stand beside the door.

"Come on then." She pulled his long coat from the closet next to her and held it out to him. He glanced up at her with that all too familiar look of confusion, but approached her and took the coat and the scarf she also produced. He held it momentarily in his hands, looking it over, before applying it and turning his coat collar up as was his trait.  
"Where do you expect we should go to? I can't be seen in public, Molly. Let's not be ridiculous." She expected a little more of a reaction out of him with that sentence, but there was none. He was utterly unreadable. She applied a cap to his head to cover up his unruly curly hair and pulled the collar of his coat up higher around his face until he was virtually unrecognizable.

"Well, you can't just live in the morgue, Sherlock." She put on her coat and her own scarf and gathered the folder from his long fingers. "You shall have to stay with me. Safest place for you. You can gather your next line of action from there. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish. I work long hours, so I won't be there to bother you." She nodded almost matter-of-factly and opened the morgue door long enough to peek out. The hall was empty, as she expected. "Come. We can take the cab from the back alley. My place isn't far." She took hold of his arm and pulled him out into the hallway with her. She hurried through the maze of hospital basement hallways and he followed with not another word. She only stopped long enough to drop the signed contents of the folder in through the slot in the office door for filing.

Out the back door of the morgue and on through a back alley or two they walked before coming out onto the street and hailing a cab. The cabbie did not question or make much conversation, much to their relief. Sherlock became restless after a few minutes and pulled the black ball from his pocket and rolled it in his fingers, longing to bounce it against something or throw it hard towards something he could break. Molly glanced at it and up at him. "Another trick?" She whispered to him as she eyed it. He didn't answer. She didn't expect him to. She stared out the window at the passing scenery.

They arrived at her small flat not ten minutes later. She scurried inside, turning on lights and checking things as was her way. Things were different now. She hadn't many visitors to her home and with the one she had fancied for so long now here to stay for who knew how long, she hadn't had the proper time to prepare for a guest. Sherlock locked and bolted her door and check the windows to make sure they were properly secured as well. His eyes flitted over the small London flat and he could read her ever so much as a book. He noticed he had never really taken the time to read her before. She had always been the mousy little scurrier that rolled out the dead bodies for him whenever he liked. He bounced the little black ball on her kitchen tile as he toured the flat.

She finally came out of a back room and into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact and going about her business. He stood back and watched, bouncing the ball out of either boredom or nervousness, she could not tell which. "Tea?" She perked up a bit and gave him her Molly Hooper smile as she brought out the kettle to make a pot. He felt himself almost return the grin and stopped himself, for what reason he didn't know. He glanced at the ball.

"Another trick." He state as he rolled the ball about his hand. She stopped momentarily and looked confused.

"Sorry?" The look of confusion gave Sherlock his allowance to smirk. "Oh! The ball..." She shook her head as if to say silly Molly. Obviously.

"A small object, such as this ball placed in the armpit for a few minutes can stop the flow of blood to the wrist. So if one were to take a pulse, it would be nearly nonexistent to those not properly paying attention." Sherlock explained in his hurried way.

"Clever." Molly smiled at him and continued the tea preparations. Sherlock's momentary feeling of elation at explaining his cleverness faded quickly and he sulked into the living room and sat in one of Molly's old armchairs that sat around the tv. He knew not how much time had passed before Molly brought in the kettle and the cups for tea. They sat in silence and drank.

"Perhaps I can convince Mycroft or John to donate some of your clothing and things to the hospital so that I can obtain them for you." Molly stated as she rose from her opposing chair and set her tea cup aside. Sherlock's eyebrows noted a look of surprise. "What? You'd prefer not to do that?"

"No, no. That is a clever idea. I hadn't even thought of that." Sherlock's face went blank once again and he sipped his tea as a distraction. Molly nodded.

"Well, it isn't like you don't have a lot to deal with at the moment." She started towards the back hallway and motioned for him to join her. She showed him to a back room with a smallish bed and some things scattered and packed up. "I'm sorry I didn't really have a lot of time to prepare for you to be staying here. It's not much-"

"It's perfect, Molly." Sherlock gave her that tired half grin as he surveyed the room. "You really don't have to take me in. I can find somewhere to bunker down until the whirlwind "suicide of a fake genius" dies down." His blue green eyes landed on her.

"I insist." She smiled. Her usually Molly self. "I have no problem with you staying here as long as you need to. You can stay close and survey things until they die down as you say. Just gather your thoughts and let me know if there's anything else you need." Molly smiled once more at him before backing out of the room and leaving him to his thoughts. She started to turn and go down the hall before she stopped herself with an "Oh!" Sherlock glanced up at her once again. "I did manage to gather you some clothing from the donations until I could get some of your things, if at all. It isn't much, but at least it's something til I can at least get your suit cleaned." She motioned towards the box at the foot of the bed.

Sherlock came towards her, that look of strained grief and exhaustion wearing on his handsome face. He managed a grin once more and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Thank you, Molly. For everything." He then turned and began to survey the room once again as she left and went down to her room. Molly could not suppress the feeling of butterflies flitting in her stomach mixed with the relief of the fact that he had indeed survived the day as he feared he would not.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Molly sat on her bed after leaving Sherlock to her small extra bedroom in her small, less than special flat and cried. She could no longer contain the overwhelming tsunami of emotions that were the last 24 hours. Feeling that her Sherlock was going to die unless something drastic was done. Watching from the morgue office window as he fell from the top of the St. Bartholomew's hospital into a nearby rubbish truck lined with homeless network contributed mattresses and trashbags filled with clothes to hopefully break his fall without breaking his bones. Watching as the corpse she had supplied was pushed out of the truck into the spot where he would have landed otherwise and covered with a bag or two of borrowed blood that a homeless networker had hidden in his jacket and applied as quickly as Sherlock's coat had been applied to the corpse. Hiding him in the morgue as she did her work and faked her friend's death.

The tears came quickly, hot and burning. She shouldn't be crying, she told herself. Sherlock was alive and well and no worse for the wear down the hallway most likely passed out on the bed sleeping off the days events. She should be happy that he was alive and that she was the one who could be sure of it. She could only think what John and Mycroft were feeling at this moment. Torturous. She cried for them as well, knowing there were many broken hearts this night and hers was not one of them. She picked up her phone and glanced at it. Did she dare? It would be out of character for her not to do so. She dialed John's number and waited. No answer. She knew there probably would not have been one. The message played and the beep signaled her. "John..." She choked back a sob. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for your loss. If you need me please let me know. I'm here for you." She hung up before the next wave of sobs wracked her body. She tossed the phone down and cried into her handkerchief that John and Sherlock had given her as a small token of appreciation for all of the help she had supplied throughout their various cases leading up to this point.

What seemed like forever later, she drug herself out of bed and stumbled down the hallway to her small bathroom to clean herself up. She really needed to sleep. She had the day off tomorrow but this was no way to rest up by crying over all of the broken hearts and torn lives this act had caused.

She swung open the bathroom door, unaware of the light already being on and caught herself in an O of surprise at a nearly nude Sherlock sitting on the tubside attempting to doctor himself up. He sat in his donated pajama bottoms with a look of surprise as well as he glanced up into the mirror and saw Molly standing there. His look turned to one of concern as he took in the bags under her eyes, the tearstained cheeks, the swollen lips and reddened nose of a woman who has been crying uncontrollably for what would seem like hours. He attempted to pull he bathrobe up over his shoulders again, but without the dressings on it hurt to do so and he winced.

"No, Sherlock. Stop." She stepped forward and pulled the robe back down. He was impressed. This was uncharacteristic for shy Molly Hooper. He allowed it. She was no John the army doctor but she was a woman and they tended to have a maternal instinct to help and nurse. Ouch. That thought hurt so much Sherlock visibly winced once again. John must be in such torturous agony right now and it was his fault. Sentiment. Damnable emotions. Molly was removing the robe and examining the many scrapes, scratches, and the few deeper lacerations he had sustained in his fall from the top of the hospital building. "You're not so good of a liar sometimes." She sighed and started to clean the wounds with the antiseptic that Sherlock had found in her first aid kit. He said nothing, only allowed her to bandaged him up. She took her time, didn't attempt conversation. Her heart hurt too much for him and for John at the moment to try and lighten the mood.

About half an hour later she pulled the robe up over his toned shoulders and stood up to look at herself in the mirror. Ghastly, Molly. She thought to herself before opening the cabinet to grab a few ibuprofen and popped them down with a drink of water. Sherlock stood to adjust the robe and tie it and then cleaned up his mess of bandage wrappers and the like. He turned to say something to Molly, only to discover her gone, her door clicking lightly behind her. Sherlock stood in the pale light of the bathroom mirror and reflected for a moment before retiring.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Molly stepped lightly into 221B Bakerstreet, almost sheepishly. It had taken all that she could muster to take the cab over to the flat Sherlock and John had shared. Mrs. Hudson led her up the stairs to the flat without a word. She looked like hell as well, Molly noted. Smeared mascara and haphazard hair. She carried her handkerchief about in her hand and wiped her petite nose with it here and there to stifle a sniffle. Molly followed somberly into the main room where John sat in his usual armchair facing the windows across from the fireplace. He sat, silently and unmoving, staring off into the air that filtered in front of the grey armchair across from him. Molly crossed around to him as Mrs. Hudson pilfered in the kitchen, boxing up things here and there and sobbing here and there in the process. She touched the back of the armchair and watched John carefully for any reaction. There wasn't much of anything in the frowning, disgruntled face.

"John?" She nearly whispered, fearful to speak anything to him. That perhaps her feelings would run away with her and she might accidently let slip something she couldn't.

John glanced up at her momentarily and he tried a shakey smile that lasted less than a second or two. "Hello, Molly." His eyes settled back on the armchair that Molly gingerly touched and said nothing more.  
"How are you holding up?" She asked, desperately begging conversation to shake John from this maddening stare at the memory of Sherlock sitting in the chair with the laptop, or his damnedable phone, or the paper...or even just sitting with that precarious chin propped up on his folded hands, deep in though or deduction. Mostly likely the latter. John didn't stir. "I am sorry if my coming by bothered you...I just thought it would be well to take the donations over myself, just to help-"

"Yes, thank you, Molly. Most helpful." John closed his eyes and ran a hand across his face. Possibly to stifle tears. John did not need tears to show the grief and hurt that was all too palpable in his demeanor, his broken voice, his body language. Molly faltered momentarily. He's alive, John. Don't be heartbroken. He's at my flat. Just pop on over and we can return things to their rightful state...She shook her head.

"Um, okay." She smiled quirkily before frowning at her strange reaction. Any longer here and she may end up ruining everything for all of them. Hadn't Sherlock confided that their lives were in danger? That if something happened it was to keep them from being killed. One life to save three? Three lives, she wondered to herself. John surely was one, that could easily be deduced. She laughed inside her head. Deduced, good one, Molly. You're starting to crack under emotional strain. Who were the other two? Perhaps Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft? She couldn't tell. Was she even on the list?

Mrs. Hudson bustled out of the tiny kitchen with a box packed full and clinking with beakers and glass. Molly took it with a smile and Mrs. Hudson managed one. "Thank you, dear. You're a right one to take this to the hospital. No more use for it here." She sobbed again and Molly set the box down and took her into her arms for a hug and let her sob against her shoulder. She righted herself, wiped her tears, and started into the back room. Molly followed. "I've got a few boxes packed of clothing here, dear. Can you manage all of this in a cab by yourself? I don't think John's fit to be doing much at the moment..."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I'll manage. It's no problem. I understand completely." Molly entered Sherlock's bedroom and took a look. Not much here either it seemed. Periodic tables on the walls, a sizable library that had not been included in the mass that was out in the living room. She turned and took his blue dressing gown down from the back of the door and stuffed it into one of the boxes while Mrs. Hudson's back was turned. Surely she wouldn't notice, and surely he'd be wanting it. Bring a little normalicy back to this unfortunate delay. She scoffed at herself again, and Mrs. Hudson turned to her confused.  
"Everything alright, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked her. Molly couldn't help it, she was crying a bit too. "Oh, come now, dear." Mrs. Hudson enveloped her in a hug this time. "We all miss him. All of his quirks and eccentricities. He was a good man." They comforted each other momentarily before Molly gathered up the box.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. He would be happy to know that someone is able to use these. He was indeed a good man." Molly faked a smile. She wasn't good at lying and she was hoping that she wasn't showing fake. She carried the boxes past John in his mourning meditation and down to call the cab. She returned to gather the science equipment and stopped to look at him once more. She figured she would be bold and took a seat across from John in Sherlock's chair. This shook him momentarily out of his sulk and he only looked at her through reddened tired eyes.

"Sherlock was a friend to all of us, John. You are taking this the hardest, I know. We all see it. Do not let it ruin you though. The world would be in ruin with the both of you gone." Molly tried her best to be encouraging. She wasn't much of a people person, but she loved her friends. To see John in such a state worried her and she hated that this was all for naught. Not completely all for naught, Molly. Remember, it was one life for three. And John was number one.

John said nothing but looked at her and the tears were welling up. He stood abruptly and she popped up with him in a knee jerk reaction. "No worries. I'm not going to do anything daft. Just need some time to gather myself." John stood stoicly, as was his way. The army was still in him and perhaps would always be. She leaned forward and pecked his cheek before he nodded her his goodbye and started off towards the stairs that led to his upstairs bedroom. Molly's heart broke a little as she noted a slight limp in his right leg. That so called psychosomatic limp was trying to return in his fragile emotional state. Molly shook her thoughts from her head, gathered up the remaining box, and headed down the stairs to her waiting cab. She rode back to her flat in silent thought.

Molly kicked the door to her tiny flat open and struggled with the box inside. This was the fragile box and she dared not let it slip before she slid it on the counter in the kitchen. She returned out the door to gather the remaining two boxes of clothing and things that she had collected and spun to her surprise to see Sherlock standing next to the counter with his cup in hand. He was dressed in the pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt with her bathrobe upon his shoulders. She couldn't help but smile a bit to herself at the sight. He looked better. Less tired, more arrogant, if that could be a readable emotion. Perhaps it could considered Sherlock normally oozed arrogance and abrasiveness. Normally.

"You did well." He stated in his deep, honeyed voice and took a sip of whatever was in the cup. Most likely coffee. He would probably be up all night. If he was more like his normal self. Molly couldn't be sure at this point. Her own perceptions of normalicy were starting to be a bit tweaked and weird. She chalked it up to exhaustion.

"I did the best I could. They think that I donated all of it to the hospital. Let's hope they don't look into it." Molly set the last box down on the floor at his feet and he flicked it open curiously. He pulled out the blue dressing gown and smirked. Molly smiled at the reaction. "I was amazed that they parted with anything really. They're in a sad state." Molly felt her heart was about to break, remembering John's sadness and stressed demeanor.

"Really?" Sherlock cocked his head to the side with a barely notable flash of surprise. Was he really oblivious to how much these people, though few, cared so deeply for him? She would have joined them, if she hadn't have been asked to join in this escapade. Is this how John felt on their adventures in case cracking? Perhaps a little more exhilirated and a little less melancholy.

"Well of course, Sherlock. You can't be that clueless. Really." She shook her head and slid off her coat. He offered her a cup of steaming hot liquid and she took it with a smile. She sipped. Tea. Slightly comforting. "You did what you did to save the lives of your friends. Well, three of them anyway." She stared into the cup of tea. He watched her cautiously as he opened the boxes and rooted through what had been brought to him. "I wasn't one of the three, was I..." She trailed off. Sherlock continued on without pause. Molly started off into the living room. "Okay."

Sherlock stood up. Emotion. Sentiment. Damned emotions. He hated them and this stunt he had pulled had inevitable caused a tidal wave of them from every angle. He sipped his tea and furrowed his brow, unsure of how to approach this situation. "Molly."

"It's okay, Sherlock." She gave him her Molly grin and turned before the tears came. A shower. Perhaps that would make her feel better. A nice hot shower away from all of this angst. She started in the direction of her bedroom and was stopped by Sherlock's strong hand on her arm, turning her. He held her in front of him at arm's length and studied her. Deduced her state. She didn't like being read like a book but with Sherlock for a flatmate it was unavoidable.

"I confided in you for two reasons. One was that you had the expertise and the access to help me pull this off. The other was that you were not considered a 'friend' by Moriarty." Sherlock gave it to her point blank. She let a few more tears go, she couldn't avoid that. She was a human, she could cry and show emotion. "Jim got close to you to get close to me. He glimpsed how I treated you and deduced himself that you were not someone I would care enough about to threaten me with." That did it. Molly lowered her head and cried. She felt his grip tighten but she didn't care. She wouldn't try to tear herself away. This was the closest she had ever gotten to being touched by Sherlock. It hurt, but it was perhaps for the best. "I'm sorry, Molly. I'm not trying to be shallow or cruel. In a way this saved you. I see you more clearly now than ever before. This is why I came to you. Please don't be so sad." She took a step back and he allowed her to and released her. She took to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. He didn't follow. She heard nothing for a moment before the glass clanking of beakers and science equipment commenced.

She thought to herself. Sherlock was right. She was the perfect person to come to for the help he needed. And perhaps Sherlock's blatant treatment of her, that which she was so used to, was for the better at the time. She hadn't known much about 'Jim from IT', much more than he had shown an interest in her as well as Sherlock. She figured they had something in common, and she wasn't wrong in that. He obviously had taken some kind of interest in her or else he wouldn't have opened up to her. Or was his supposive openness with her just a ploy to get her to help him? She couldn't tell and frankly it was making her tired and she didn't want to think about it anymore. She took one last look in the mirror, and huffed. She changed into her pajamas and headed back out to find Sherlock in the kitchen arranging various equipment upon the counter. He turned and glanced at her and opened his mouth to say something and she shook her head violently in protest. "No more about it, I understand now. No worries. You are obviously getting better at making yourself at home and that's good. Some normalicy will do you good and if this is it, then all for it." She took back her glass she had set down earlier. He watched her with a queer unreadable look upon his face. She sipped it and surveyed his work before turning to the telly and her armchair. She watched her shows in silence as he continued on.

Not long after, he joined her and watched a bit of telly with her in silence. He looked her over to survey what state she was in, and tested the waters. "So how were they?"

"Pitifully heartbroken." She answered without more than a glance up from her program.

"John?" Slight wavering in his voice at this name. Molly felt sick.

"He has taken it very badly." Molly sighed. She sipped her tea. "I've never seen the man as unnerved as he was in that flat today." Silence. She turned. Sherlock was unreadable again. Clammed up. "You knew what this would do to him, didn't you?"

Sherlock only nodded. He did in fact know that this would cause John a lot of anguish and pain, but this was much more a reason to do it. He loved John. He did what John would have done. He gave his life for him. "He will survive. He survived all of the torture of the war, he will survive this as well. Death is nothing new to him."

"This death is different and you know it." Molly sighed again. She was tired again. This emotional rollercoaster was getting to be too much for her to bear. She rose from the armchair and set her cup in the sink of the kitchen. She stopped as Sherlock stared ahead at the telly. "I'm off to bed. Perhaps when you get an idea of where we go from here you'll let me know tomorrow? I'll probably take the day off tomorrow. I'm not feeling 100% as I thought I would." Once again she left Sherlock to his thoughts and felt badly for it. She knew he needed consoling as well, if he would allow it but he was so damned stubborn it was hard to get into his protective shell.

She drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Sherlock, all alone in this world that knew him as dead and gone. Without his John, his one and only companion and the only one that he would show any of himself to. She longed to be the one he would open up to but she knew that it would never be so. She listened to his footsteps as he padded down the hall to his room and closed the door. Violin music filtered through the flat and lulled her to sleep with a slight smile on her face. When alone, music is there to comfort. And help me think...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Molly awoke and glanced sleepily around her darkened bedroom. There was silence, nothing out of the ordinary. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, sensing something had awoken her but unsure of what it was. Then she heard it. Some strange, strangulated noise from down the hall, somewhere in the flat. She rose, still have asleep, and put on her robe about her pajamas. She opened the door to the hallway timidly and poked out her head, her tangled red hair falling over her shoulders in knots and curls. She listened.

There. Again. She padded down the hallway and peered into the living room. Lights were off, no one in sight. Sherlock wasn't up making any noise if it was indeed him. She heard it once more, this time noticing it was coming from her extra bedroom at the end of the hall. She crept nearer and realized it was indeed Sherlock. She leaned near to the door to listen better and confirmed. "John" was the only word she could make out among the other mumbling and rubbish talk she heard. Slowly she cracked open the door, making sure not to let it squeak as she did so.

Sherlock lay in bed, pajama bottoms on, nothing more, his lengthy frame stretched out on the double sized bed. "John..." he moaned in palpable anguish. She stepped into the room and slowly shut the door behind her. Was he awake? He twitched in his sleep, turning on his side and curling up into a human ball nearly off the edge of the bed. She could see in the moonlight that seeped in through the window that he was bathed in sweat, his mess of curls soaked and sticking to his neck and forehead. He made a sound that literally broke Molly's heart. Could it possibly have been a sob?

The nearer she came, she confirmed. Tears stained his troubled face, his mouth worked out silent words that would possibly have made no sense if voice were put to them. Sherlock seemed to be having a night terror. Molly had never heard mention of anything from John or Mrs. Hudson of the sort. Then again, he had been under a great deal of pressure the last few months, not to mention the last few days. It was bound to show through at some point in time. After all, Sherlock was human even if he didn't show it.

Another sob. "No..no.." he mumbled and kicked with his foot. Molly heaved a heavy sigh and rounded the bed on his other side. She removed her robe and climbed gingerly into the bed. The movement didn't wake him, as he continued to moan and sob here and there. She lay back on the pillows on her side, considering whether she should try to wake him. Would that make it worse? Couldn't you mess people up if you wake them during a night terror? No, no, that was sleepwalking. Obviously, Molly. She could imagine him scolding her with that same word in his voice inside her head and she laughed to herself. "Gods no!" He yelled out, causing her to jump. He flung his arm back, almost hitting her and lay sprawled on his back across the bed. She looked down at him solemnly. The poor soul. She thought John looked tortured, but she wasn't sure if it was any comparison to this. Had he been experiencing this since the fall?

Sherlock slowly rolled back over onto his left side. Molly made up her mind. Either he would wake and be upset with her about something less frightening than what he was experiencing in this dream, or he would experience this terror with someone to comfort him if need be. Either way something needed to be done. Molly scooted closer to Sherlock and laid back, snaking her arm around him as she did so. She snuggled up close and waited. She could feel the sweat and the tension in his limbs. His breath came quick and ragged. But ever so slowly she felt him relax. The sobs stopped, as did the incoherent mumbling. She tightened her arm about him, hugging him close, not being able to help herself in this one moment, to which she figured she was the only person able to get this close to the great Sherlock Holmes. To her surprise, he laid his right arm about hers as it encircled him and his hand closed around hers. Molly smiled to herself as his breathing slowed to the rhythmic rise and fall of sleep.

Molly figured she wouldn't be able to sleep now that she had Sherlock in this position. It was something she'd only dreamed of before, many nights she confessed to herself. Somehow she drifted off, the soft snoring of her companion lulling her back to rest.

Sherlock awoke early the next morning, as was his usual. He was rarely up later than the break of dawn. He surely wasn't lazy, and he wasn't going to allow this situation to cause him to be so. His internal clock always awoke him around six in the morning, although it would seem it had faltered a bit and led him to wake more around nine. He rolled over in the bed and stretched. He longed for coffee. He felt tired still, but this was nothing unusual given the past few days. He would be back to his old ways before too long. After all, he was human. Outside of his genius mind there were the limits of his physical body and they had been taken a toll on. Movement in the bed caused a rush of adrenaline and a rise of alarm. His gazed darted over to the woman who lay silently asleep in the bed next to him. Molly slept on despite his awakening.

Confusion, embarrassment. Why the devil was Molly Hooper in his bed? She was clothed, so nothing to think of there. He sat up slowly, as not to wake her, his hand upon his pillow. Wet? Why was his pillow damp? Terrors. It must have been the nightmares. They had been coming for a few nights now, ever since he had come to stay with Molly. Moriarty, signaling snipers to fire upon his friends...upon John. They were completely helpless and oblivious. Moriarty would then cackle and push him from atop the building to his own death. So much death, he was done with it all. He glanced back over at Molly as she slept on. It had been ages since there had been a woman in his bed. She was a decent looking one. Her long reddish hair was glowing in the dawn light, her mouth slightly open as she slept, the rise and fall of her chest was sweet in a way.

He shook the thoughts from his head and edged his way off of the bed. He made his way down the hallway to the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were a startling bluish green, reddened, swollen, tired. He had been crying in his sleep last night, possibly talking as well. Molly probably heard it and came to see if he was okay. Why she felt the need to sleep in the bed with him was beyond him. Probably that word again. Sentiment? "Bahh." he sighed and started the shower.

Molly awoke to an empty bed. She wasn't surprised. She must have fallen asleep while comforting Sherlock. She rose and put on her robe and went out to start breakfast. She passed by the bathroom and noted the sounds of the shower as she did so. She sighed. She wouldn't mind sharing a shower with Sherlock. She'd dreamed of it before. Silly thought, Molly. Why do you still entertain things like that when you know they are never going to happen? "What is it he says all the time?" She spoke out loud to herself while in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Her leave of absence from work was coming to a close. She only had a few more days left before she would have to return to work and act like nothing was wrong. "Sentiment, that's it." She laughed to herself as she poured the coffee.

"What was that?" the voice startled her from behind. Sherlock emerged in his usual, pajamas and dressing gown. He sat at the kitchen table with newspaper in hand. Molly had taken to procuring various newspapers for him on a daily basis to amuse his avid mind.

"Oh! Um, nothing. Just talking to myself again." Molly laughed it off, her face blushing pink. He held her gaze for a moment before going back to the paper. She continued on with breakfast. "Should we talk about-"

"No." Sherlock raised the paper as to block her from his view. Stupid, Molly, stupid. Of course he doesn't want to talk about his night terrors and how he cries in his sleep. Or about you hugging onto him while he's asleep.

"Okay." She turned back to the breakfast and placed his plate in front of him with his cup of coffee. "It was a one time thing anyway. It won't happen again." She finished and sat down to eat her breakfast, clutching another paper to her to read the headlines. She didn't notice the look Sherlock gave her from over the top of his own paper. Thank you, Molly. You do count, you still count...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Molly stumbled in the door and out of the rain, shaking off her umbrella as she did so. Sherlock sat in the armchair in the living room with her laptop, cruising through the news she supposed. She kicked off her rain boots and placed everything neatly in the little closet. "How's the day been?" She gave him a smile. Today had been a better day. It was only a few days after the events that had changed them forever, and she had finally begun to feel a bit better. Sherlock hardly glanced up.

"Unproductive, Molly, since you should ask." He sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped a bit. She felt a little bad for him. Sherlock grew bored extremely easily if there was nothing to keep his brain working. At least he had refrained from putting bullet holes in her wall. She winced slightly, luckily with her back to him. That stung a little. Any rememberence of his former life tended to make her feel sad, for she knew he longed to be back to normal. To be with John, out solving cases in half the time that the police could...and bothering Mycroft. She wondered if not being in contact with his brother bothered him at all.  
"Sorry, Sherlock. I know it isn't easy for you to be cooped up in here unable to leave with little to do." She shrugged. She joined him in the living room and sat across from him, bringing her aching feet up in the seat with her to rub. He watched her intently, namely her feet. She scrunched her brow in thought. "What?"

"Long day in the morgue I take it?" He asked and closed the laptop, setting it on the table next to him and kept his eyes upon her as she stroked her sore feet. She nodded and smiled. This was different. Sherlock was attempting to carry on a conversation. He imagined he talked to John an awful lot. Whether that consisted of a one way conversation or an argument she figured it was probably a 50/50 chance.

"Quite a few postmortems to do today. I didn't even get a lunch break. Not much of an appetite when you're working with dead bodies anyway." She pulled her hair around her shoulder and played with it carelessly as she zoned out.

"Here." Sherlock held out his hands. Molly only stared at him. "Well come on, then." He motioned with those long, lean fingers.

"What?" She had that pleasantly vacant expression upon her face that Sherlock had glimpsed so many times working side by side in the lab.

"Your feet." His expression was exasperated. Molly didn't know how to react. Reluctantly she stretched her feet out towards him and he took them onto his cross legged lap and began to absentmindedly rub the sole of her left foot while he looked off into space, deep in thought. Molly didn't argue. It felt good. But this was incredibly uncharacteristic of Sherlock to be rubbing one's feet. He was such a withdrawn person. He glanced at her. "Repetitive tasks help with concentration. I'm going a bit dull here with nothing to do and no one here while you're gone."

Molly understood. Normally there would be Mycroft knocking down his door to bother him about a government classified case or Lestrade calling or asking by for help locally. There was always John or Mrs. Hudson to bother him. Welcome distractions she was sure. She felt a little guilty for not being a more personable host the last few days.

"What do you need?" She blurted and stopped herself, shaking her head as she did so. "I mean, outside of contacting those you can't, what can I do for you to help you busy your mind?"

"You could always bring work home with you." He smirked. She supposed the thought of her carting a dead carcass through the door from the morgue crossed his mind. Sherlock humor. "I could always help with a caseload of paperwork. Something. Anything." He continued to rub her feet and soon switched to the right. She felt some of the tension running out through those feet as he did so.

"I'm sure I could find something to bring home to you. Although it wouldn't be near as exciting as what you're normally used to." She undid her pony tail and ran her fingers through it. Sherlock hesitated for a second, she noticed that his eyes were upon her as she stroked her hair. Curious, she thought to herself. What's with the sudden intimate interest? Perhaps he always noticed the little things. Perhaps he was going a little crazy with cabin fever and it just happened to display itself in this way.

"I've been thinking on Moriarty lately." His deep voice trailed off as he stared through space and time, rubbing her feet. "If only I could figure out what connected him to all of those. Those gunmen, all of the other flies caught in his consulting criminal web..." He grunted with disapproval.

"I've got his personal effects stashed at the morgue..." Molly stated as she relaxed further into his handiwork. He stopped abruptly and leaned forward, those blue green eyes startling sharp and bright as he looked deep into hers. "I guess I should have mentioned it earlier. His body was donated to science since there was no family to be reached...they gave me his things to incinerate but I hid them instead in my office..." Sherlock grabbed her by the arms and stood her up as abruptly as he had stopped with the lovely work upon her feet.

"Molly! You are absolutely brilliant!" Sherlock's eyes were feverish. He hugged her to him and she wrapped her arms about him in surprise. This was a pleasant turn of events. Perhaps she could shake him from the doldrums after all. She nervously patted his back as he hugged her close. Once again she was pulled out of the embrace and held at arms length but his eyes were not on her this time. They were moving as if reading an invisible book in front of her face.

"What is it?" She asked and he shook her as if to silence her. She did so and watched him carefully.  
"Do that again." He saw her again. Gods, those eyes..."What you just did when I was holding you, do it again." He waited a few seconds. "Oh for gods sake." He pulled her into his arms once again and hugged her tight. Molly was decently baffled at this point and nervously patted him again. "There!" His yelp caused her to jump as he released her once again. He spun, began to pace, tapping his fingers fervently on his thigh as he did so. Then he was once again still, his eyes round, his lips an o of realization. "Oh!"

Molly stood awkwardly, watching Sherlock's brain work his body into a fever. "You've got something?" Was all she could manage. His surprise turned into a wide grin, one of which she never thought she would see again as things were going.

"Absolutely wonderful!" He clapped his hands together happily and sat quickly opening the laptop once more. "Why didn't I think of it before?"

Molly was beginning to get a bit agitated with all of the excitement. "Please, Sherlock. Tell me what it is that I did that is so fascinating." She quickly sat across from him again. He typed feverishly onto the keyboard and set it aside victoriously once more. He leaned forward and took her hands.

"You clever girl." He took her hands in his and gripped them tightly, his palms sweaty with the excitement. "Your tapping on my back as I held you. Moriarty tapped his fingers on his lap as we met before everything culminated into this mess. He was tapping binary code. I figured it out whilst John and I were in the lab..." He faltered, emotion for a missed friend showing through for a millisecond. "Moriarty told me that it meant nothing while we were on the roof. But it did. It meant more than anything else he could have given me could." He released her hands and brought his hands together under his chin in his characteristic pose. "If you could possibly bring his effects home to me, I'd very much like to see if his phone is included. It may be possible to wipe the slate clean. Take down his minions one by one. Simply with a few lines of computer code." His mind was racing, she could watch it in his eyes. She smiled.

"Most definitely I will, Sherlock. In fact, I'll head back to the morgue right now and gather it for you. You musn't waste any time!" She popped up and hurried to the closet to fetch her rain boots, rain coat, and umbrella. She reached for the doorknob and was frightened by the knock that came on the other side before she could open it. She whirled about to face Sherlock, his face now a hardened expression of concern. She peeked through the keyhole and felt her heart nearly stop in her small chest. John stood in the rain outside, waiting for an answer. She turned once more to warn her flatmate, only to see he had disappeared. She hoped he had hidden himself well. She opened the door to him slowly. "John! Do come in, you're getting soaked through out there." She stood back so as to let him into the flat.

"Thanks, Molly." He stepped inside, holding his usual army stance, learned no doubt from his many years in the army. He always held himself a certain way, and today was no different. "I just popped by to see how you were holding up."

Molly was taken aback somewhat. Here was John, who was suffering more so than probably Sherlock's brother, checking on her. "Oh."

"I know that you loved Sherlock, as a friend. Possibly more. I know he never gave you the respect or the attention you deserved from him. I want to say I'm sorry to you for that. You are a wonderful, sweet girl and I just wanted you to know this." John nodded at the end of his profession. She stood there unable to answer, surprised by the visit and the words that John was expressing to her. "We all miss him and his damnable ways. If he had known how to express to you that he appreciated you in all that you did for him he would have." He cleared his throat and stared down at his shoes as he finished.

"You always were the better half." Molly giggled nervously and instantly thought better of it. "Oh, John. Sorry. You know what I mean. When he couldn't express it you always had a way of smoothing things over."

John smiled tiredly. "I suppose you could say that." They stood in the flat kitchen together in silence. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you were doing well. I don't really have a reason to visit you at work anymore."

"You can still pop by whenever you like. I'm always thankful for the company." Molly answered quickly and gave him a warm smile. He nodded.

"I might just do that. You are more than welcome to pop by yourself if you feel you'd like to. I've decided I'm not going to leave the flat. 221B Bakerstreet is home now. I thought staying would be too much given the circumstances but on reflection it's all I've really got left. Mrs. Hudson is going to lower the rent so that I can afford to do so. I'm not going to be looking for a replacement flatmate." He cleared his throat again. Molly could tell he was starting to get choked up and she tried to think of a way to change the subject but couldn't.

"That's good, John. It will get easier and things will remind you of how aggravatingly fun he was to live with." Molly winced. Too soon. That didn't come out quite like she had hoped to but oh well. "I mean, the memories will turn from sad ones to happy ones."

John nodded again his agreement. He was looking for a way to end this uncomfortable conversation, she could tell. "Well, I wanted to give you something. I meant to the other day at the flat when you came by but I wasn't in my right mind at the time. Apologies." he pulled a small black leather bound book from within his jacket and handed it to her. Molly flipped through it gingerly noticing Sherlock's notes, drawings, calculations. She smiled to herself. "I found it in his bedroom while cleaning up things here and there. Thought you'd like to have it."

Molly felt the tears starting in her own eyes but fought them back. "Oh, John. Thank you. Really you should have it though. You were the one who worked the cases with him." She watched his reaction.

"He has many more with the casework within them. This one is namely his personal experiments that he performed in the lab with your help." John gave her a warmer smile. She nodded and gave him a warm tight hug. He stayed in her arms as long as she held the embrace. He needed the affection.

"Thank you so much, John." She released him and he straightened his jacket absentmindedly.

"I'll be off then. Don't be a stranger." he tipped his head to her and opened the door to the monsoon outside. Molly stopped him.

"John. If there was anything you could say to him before this all happened...what would you have told him? If you don't mind me asking." Molly asked him. She figured wherever Sherlock had hidden himself he could surely hear the conversation.

John stood in the entrance momentarily, perhaps in thought, perhaps deciding whether he would tell her or not. "Molly. I would tell him that despite everything said by anyone...Sherlock was the real deal. He was a genius, an observant damned genius who saw the world for what it really was. He saw me for what I really am and he accepted it. I had nothing and no one once I was discharged from the war and upon first meeting him, there was nothing I could have kept from him. He took me in, no questions asked and I am eternally grateful to him for that. He was my one best, true friend and I love him for that. He was neither a liar nor a fake and I will NEVER let anyone tell me otherwise. I miss him, Molly. I'd tell him that we could find a better way to deal with Moriarty and the stress of what that bastard was doing to him. We could have survived this without loss or injury, I'm almost sure of it. But...since things are as they are and I can't tell him anything that he would hear..." John let a tear slip down his face but he held his expression stoic. "I would tell him now that I loved him, as my flatmate, my friend, my one person I had. I loved him and I would have followed him anywhere without question." He nodded as he ended his response and turned to head out into the rain. He disappeared into a cab as quickly as he could and Molly stood there looking after him without knowing how to react. She was surprised he had even answered her. How painful that had to be. Sherlock...

Molly turned and slammed the door before heading back to the bedroom. He stood looking out the window, following John's cab with his eyes as it drove away. She couldn't read him. She only stood in the doorway and watched him, awaiting any sort of reaction. He brought his hands once again under his chin and stared thoughtfully into the rain as it trailed down the windowpane. "Quickly, Molly. Please fetch his effects so I can have a hope at ending this terrible situation I've brought down upon all of us." He said nothing more. Molly was out the door before he could have said another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Molly returned to her flat with the box of Moriarty's personal effects within the hour. It was a short ride to the hospital, and she wanted to return to the flat as soon as possible to observe what state Sherlock might be in. His emotions were rarely shown and after the conversation she had just had with John Watson, she couldn't be sure how the night was going to end. What had John and Mycroft called those nights when they were unsure of Sherlock's motives or reactions? 'Danger nights' she recalled. She wondered what to expect on a 'danger night' as she was never around for them. They were handled discreetly, although Molly wasn't peacefully oblivious as her friends probably thought she was. Molly observed, if not to the extent that Sherlock did.

She banged through the door of her flat and set the box on the kitchen table as she had Sherlock's personal things the day before and glanced about. She didn't see him anywhere. Oh gods, had he left the flat?! She locked the door behind her and threw off her rain gear once more, not bothering to put it up in the closet. She checked the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and found nothing. Her heart pounded in her ears as she wondered where he could have gone to. She wondered if he had ended this all and had gone back to show himself to John. She almost thought it wouldn't be a bad idea. Things would be normal again. John would probably deck him and curse at him lengthily, but that would be okay. That was deserved.

Her phone! She had forgotten it in her fluster to get out the door and get the things Sherlock required to start searching out the bad guys. Forgotten it in her bedroom. She hurried into the room and yelped as she found Sherlock sitting on her bed, staring off once again into space. She stopped, crinkled her brow in wonder as to why he had chosen to zone out in her bedroom and checked the phone plugged into its charger on top of her dresser. No calls, no texts. No freak outs from anyone who thought he was dead and in a coffin somewhere. She felt a little sad. She had hoped for a happy ending. "Sherlock, you okay?" She turned to him. He didn't answer. He seemed a little off kilter, just by the look of him but she couldn't really tell what emotion was trying to break through the stoney exterior.

"You gathered his things, with no problem?" Sherlock asked. She nodded and approached him. "You weren't seen? I don't want you getting into any trouble for procuring them for me." He stood slowly. She wished she would have turned on the light. She didn't think to in her excitement. He was nothing but a silhouette to the moonlight that filtered into her room. She wanted to see his face, to read what it was he was thinking although she knew it would be damn near impossible.

"No problem. Everyone had left for the night. Security didn't even see me come in." Molly smiled at him to break the tension, for there was definitely tension in the room. An electricity she hadn't noticed before. "Are you okay? I know after John's visit it must have been hard for you-" He approached her abruptly once more and she caught her breath. He was only inches away now.

"No. I don't think I am." He didn't move. "I can normally deal with emotions on a daily basis without faltering. Our situation on the other hand, has made it nearly unbearable to deal with all this, emotion. It makes it impossible to think or concentrate." She could feel his hot breath as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. It gave her a chill down her spine that was very much welcomed. She didn't move. "I don't know how to handle all of it. I need an outlet."

Molly reached up and hugged him to her. Just as he had earlier that day, and as she had the night before as he struggled with his terrors in his sleep. Just an affectionate, intimate hug. Molly knew nothing else for it. When someone is sad, or upset, you want to comfort them. Hold them close. Let them vent. "I'm here for you, Sherlock. In any way you need me. I'm probably breaking boundaries..." She stopped talking. She didn't care if she was breaking any boundaries. he wasn't pulling away. If anything he put his arms about her as well and leaned into the bend of her neck, which was somewhat difficult given his height in comparison to hers. He breathed deeply, Molly figured to calm himself. "You do smell wonderful." He whispered. She squeezed him a bit in response, smiling to herself. This was nice. Just holding him was good for her soul.

He drew back a bit, and Molly expected that was the end of the 'outlet' he needed. Sherlock shocked her once more by laying a chaste kiss upon her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise. Yes, there had been the peck on the cheek at the Christmas party when he had gone on with his deductions and hurt her feelings, and embarrassed himself in front of his group of compatriots, but she never expected it would come to this. He studied her face as well as he could in the moonlit darkness of the bedroom. She drew in her breath as she witnessed the change come over him. Eyes hungry and feverish, he came in for another kiss, his mouth exploring hers. She allowed it. She was quickly losing herself in the situation. Perhaps this 'outlet' was something he had withheld from himself for years. There was no knowing if Sherlock had even experienced this before. She let herself be kissed by her one love, Sherlock, and allowed him to use her as any 'outlet' he preferred.

When Molly had entered the bedroom, unknowing that she would find him there upon her bed, Sherlock didn't really know what he was intending to do. He had wandered in earlier after she had left. After John had shown up. And damned Molly had asked him that irrational question. John's answer had surprised him. He hadn't expected John to reveal anything to anyone, and yet in this time of grief, he had opened up and shown his heart to Molly. John loved him and was little without him. Unknowingly to Sherlock, until that moment, he was little without John. They completed each other. The ultimate 'bromance' as John called these types of situations on the telly when he watched trash sitcoms with him. Sherlock missed him. Sherlock longed to be on the case with his 'blogger' again. Perhaps with his newfound realization of Moriarty's binary code and possibly his phone as well, he could search out these assassins and their links to Moriarty so as to end all of this. It would just be easier with John...

Molly had entered the room while he was starting to let free his grief over hurting his closest friend and he had stopped himself. The feelings and emotions were coming, there was little holding back. He bottled everything up so well behind a porcelian mask 100% of the time, but this sadness and guilt was too much. John's confession pushed him over the edge. He should have immediately let lose the tidal wave of emotion as soon as Molly had exited the flat, but he hadn't. Now there had to be an outlet.  
Sherlock knew not what it was about her that had triggered his reaction as he entered the flat, but he studied her instantly as she entered the room. Hair down and undone, the familiar scent of her vanilla shampoo wafting through the air everytime she moved her head. So often she wore it up in a ponytail but the scent seemed stronger when she let it down. Or perhaps it was just the heightened senses he had succumbed to at the moment that did it. Her skin glowed ethereally in the moonlight, her lips a startling blush red, perhaps in her excitement to check her phone for whatever reason. An experiment, he thought to himself. This could work.

He had only recent come to the realization that Molly fancied him. He had never really taken the time to look her over and deduce her as he so often did the others that he was involved with. He wondered why. Why never take the time out to look her over and read her like an open book? He was puzzled. He had stood and come closer, the scent of her drawing him closer out of curiousity. He could feel the heat of her skin as she had taken him into her arms to hug him and comfort him, as was her nature. He had breathed her vanilla shampoo and the general girly smell of her in deep and suddenly it had become completely intoxicating. Physical feelings he had not felt in many years stirred within him and he felt that once it was unleashed there was no stopping it. He needed an outlet. This seemed to be the most efficient way. He wasn't thinking clearly enough to give himself any other way of releasing the emotion and tension. Sentiment was such a messy thing, he rarely dared to be involved with. This wanton lust that overtook him overrode anything rational within his genius mind at the moment.

He had kissed her, not really knowing how, just allowing his body to take over and found that it was a natural and completely energizing feeling. He kissed her deeply and drank her in. This is it, there is no turning back. The last rational inside his mind reminded him before there was nothing else but want, need, hunger.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly melted into the kiss like there was no other heavenly feeling in the world. She could hardly believe that she was in the position she found herself currently in. She let herself be kissed, she didn't dare react for fear that he would once again pull away. The way he was exploring her and drinking her in almost had her convinced that he did indeed intend to have his way with her. He needs an outlet...Molly couldn't help but think. Was he just playing with her? He loved his experiments. What better experiment than little shy Molly. They were both very emotionally vulnerable currently, but Molly had learned to never be too careful with Sherlock. He enjoyed games. Thrill of the chase. This angered her slightly, but the nervousness far outweighed the thought of him using her as a sexual guinea pig. Molly had never had anyone before, this would be her first time. She'd had first date kisses and the like but she had never made it any further. What better person to lose her virginity to than Sherlock Holmes? He'd held her heart for a very long time. She was headed for heartbreak but she hadn't the willpower to save herself from what was about to transpire. And she was finding it more convincing by every second spent in Sherlock's embrace that she frankly didn't care.

Sherlock extended his exploring as the kiss grew more passionate. He kissed down the crook of her neck and underneath her ear. This produced delightfully arousing array of sighs and moans from Molly's parted lips. Molly grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled it free from its tucked position in his trousers. As she undid the buttons and admired his toned torso he worked on hers as well. He let his hands run over all of her curves. Molly's hands mistakingly brushed the growing length of him and he caught his breath and bit down on her neck for another moan. Molly took this cue to be encouraging and unzipped his trousers to slide her slender hand inside and take hold of him. Sherlock halted in surprise. Molly began to stroke him slowly, almost antagonizingly. Sherlock had half a mind to allow her to continue but quickly felt that things would be over before he was ready if she did.

He could stand it no more. He whipped of his jacket and shirt and threw them haphazardly into the floor beside the bed and stripped her blouse and slacks off in few graceful motions. He took only a second to admire the curvacious small form of Molly in the darkness before he lifted her up into a tight embrace and kissed her all the way to the bed. He dropped her onto the bed, kicked off his trousers and joined her, skin on skin. It was a delightful feeling of velvet warmth that had only been a memory of years ago. He found her mouth once more and his hands found her hard nipples to produce more noises from Molly's mouth. She snuck her hand once more in between them and took hold of him once more. Sherlock nearly purred. He only allowed a few seconds of her talented hands upon him before he stilled her. After who knows how long without human touch and contact in such a form, Molly decided it was probably best to let him take control.

Sherlock positioned himself and slid slowly inside of her, filling her up with more than just a lustful feeling of fullness, but with all the emotions of wanton lust, desire, and years of pent of longing that had become the daily life of Molly Hooper. She watched the expressions of ecstasy that transformed his handsome face as he began to slowly move inside her. She wondered if he had deduced that she was a virgin, as he was painstakingly careful from the start. He moved with grace and fluidity and a hint of contained animalistic desire.

Sherlock also glanced at the readable desire and pleasure that was marked on Molly's face. His physical body was obviously focused on the delightful warmth that surrounded him and would soon bring him to his peak, but his emotional state surprised him. All he could think about in this moment was John. This would take considerable concentration and consideration at a later time. Things were beginning to feel unbearably good and his thoughts were fuzzy and warm and...

Sherlock quickened his thrusts, Molly made her agreement known with moans and breaths that were downright sinful. Molly cried out as he brought her to the brink and toppled her over and she arched in the throes of her orgasm. Hearing such a declaration and culmination of desire he could barely hold himself back from the edge and allowed himself to come. Loudly, he moaned and collapsed heavily on top of her on the bed. They lay together, skin to skin, chests heaving, breaths ragged, skin slick with sweat and smelling of sex. Neither said a word. Molly smiled to herself as her thoughts came back to her. There was no place she would rather have been at any moment in time than underneath naked Sherlock. After a time he found the strength to roll off of her glowing body and take in the returning consciousness. He had needed an outlet and Molly had volunteered. He felt miraculously better. No more need to break something, go off unfairly on poor Molly, pop on over to 221B Bakerstreet and surprise John and succumb to his curses and anger. This idea still stood out in his head, but at least the nagging urge to do so had lessened.

He looked over at Molly as she lay staring at the ceiling, smiling to herself. What could she be thinking? One could only wonder. At that moment, he felt strangely vulnerable and naked. He took hold of one of Molly's many pillows and covered his groin and stood. Molly didn't move. She couldn't. She was starting to feel delightfully sore. And out of breath. And in an emotional state that could not be described by any words known to man at that time. He walked off into the spare bedroom to grab his dressing gown and bottoms, applied them quickly and came back into the doorway of the room. Molly still lay on the bed completely exposed. Sherlock couldn't find anything to say, neither witty or cruel or otherwise.  
Molly said nothing as well. Only stood and walked past him naked into the hallway and down to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. He waited, and heard nothing. Perhaps tea. Or something to eat. he felt absolutely famished now. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was almost midnight. Nagging memories of John asking him to eat something flashed in. Ouch. Sherlock rummaged through Molly's fridge and came up with nothing. Perhaps they could order out.

He plunked down into the armchair that was becoming increasingly his favorite place to relax in the flat. He furrowed his brow. Why, in a moment of physical pleasure was he thinking about John? This was a bafflement. He folded his hands up under his chin as he was known to do. Had John experienced that same feeling before? Did he feel guilty about bedding Molly for some reason? He knew she would probably end up hurt, but she had not turned her cheek to him when he had kissed her. She had accepted. Well, of course she had accepted. Ever since Christmas, Sherlock had been awakened to the knowledge that Molly fancied him, although he showed no remote interest in her. What a mess. Everything was a mess. He ran his hands through his curly auburn hair in agitation.

A click from the bathroom door. Molly came through the hallway doorway with her robe on. Her hair still hung in bedded curls from their romp, but Sherlock decided it suited her. Molly was really quite lovely, he couldn't deny. Her fashion sense and knack at cracking jokes left something to be desired, but she was extremely intelligent. He remembered the feel of her small bosom within his large hands and noted that even though he had cruelly noted before that she was compensating for them with other things, they really felt quite nice and suited her small frame perfectly. Why Molly didn't have a significant other was beginning to stump the consulting detective as well. Molly had given everything for him since the moment he had asked for her help. Covered up for him, allowed him into her home, given herself body and soul to him when he couldn't contain his own explosion of emotion, regardless of the heartbreak she most likely would experience at a later time. Women were fragile things he did not understand, but that was a most notable reaction out of most of them. Statistically, at least.

Molly said nothing, only headed into the kitchen and pulled out a few worn menus from the kitchen drawer. "I'm peckish. Take out?" She waved them at him and he nodded his agreement. The entire situation would require further contemplation. But first, take out.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock waited until Molly had finally retired to her room and shut the door firmly behind her. He sat up in the armchair, hands steepled underneath his chin as he sat, deep in thought, taking in the nights events. Molly had not mentioned their tryst after the fact, much to Sherlock's relief. Their takeout had been fulfilling, her nightly shows on crap telly had sated her tiring mind, and she had gone off to bed with a cheerful "Goodnight, Sherlock" and nothing else.

Sherlock rose and ventured close to her bedroom door. He stalled until he could make out the faint rhythmic breathing of sleep, and decided perhaps this would be a good time for reflection. He wandered into the bathroom and started up the shower, undressing and hanging his clothing on the back of the door. He stepped into the warm cascading water, rested his hands against the tile, and let the water wash over him, weighing down his curls and trickling down his eyelids as he closed his eyes in contemplation.

Sex had never been something on Sherlock's mind. Contrary to belief, Sherlock was no virgin. As any teenage boy would have done, he experimented, but only once or twice. Once he deduced that emotion was a large part of the act, he quickly lost interest. Something that felt so good did not outweigh the fact that emotion and sentiment got in the way of the facts. He wasn't overtly interested in delving deeper into that in any way, shape, or form. Therefore, sex did not come into play in Sherlock's mind. At least not often.

Molly was no doubt a beautiful girl, cheerful, dreadfully intelligent even if it was wasted on dry wit at times. He could appreciate the female form, and hers was nearly flawless. Why she was single confused Sherlock, as someone of her body type and intellectuality should easily be able to find a mate if they so chose to. Perhaps she chooses not to, Sherlock thought to himself as the warmth of the shower rained down on him. But why? He was baffled, and it was frustrating. He was, however, thankful that she had been so perceptive and voluntary in helping him with his outburst of uncontainable sentiment.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in the shower, where some of his best contemplation had been done many a time previous to this. It was one thing to bed Molly to help focus his feelings. It was another that he had been thinking of John during the act. Feeling a pang of guilt that he was in bed with Molly instead of letting John know that he was alive. Possibly fulfilling Molly's deepest desires, whether he realized them or not, while crushing and devastating his one true friend in the world. One did not usually think of their friend, especially of the same sex, while bedding a woman. It was emotion, it was sentiment. Messy emotions. This was still intriguing. When he thought of John, his stomach became knots and tangles, his chest tightened, his adrenaline flushed through his system. Unusually fascinating, Sherlock couldn't help but note.

He straightened up, throwing his head back and splashing the water upon the opposite tile. He needed to get his brilliant mind back on track, into the right place. This was nearly a bump in the road. Thinking of John and bedding Molly were distractions, although needed ones. He needed to submerse himself into Moriarty's web of lies and decent and crime and work on getting things righted. He showered quickly and stepped out, shaking on his pajama pants and dressing gown and walking quickly and with purpose to the living room where he had recently placed Molly's stolen box of Moriarty's effects so as to pilfer through them.

Sherlock could hardly contain his excitement as he searched through the box. He rifled through quickly, anxious to find what he wanted most of all: Moriarty's phone. This phone alone had helped to unlock Crown Jewels, prison, and Bank of England all with the press of a button. If it could do that, surely it had numbers, codes, information...Sherlock checked the bloodspattered suit pockets to no avail, nothing could be found within the box that mattered besides the phone...Sherlock stopped and closed his eyes. Surely it must be here. Molly said everything he had on his person had been given to her to be disposed of. The authorities wouldn't have kept the phone, due to the fact it was a nearly open and shut case of double suicide between the two of them and he was not known to them as Moriarty Criminal Mastermind now but as Richard Brook, the actor hired to play the consulting criminal to make himself look good.

Sherlock knocked the box over, spilling out the contents of his nemesis across Molly's rug and grabbed tufts of his curly hair in frustration. Where could it possibly be?! He knew it had been on him, he had been playing that damned song he liked so much whilst on the rooftop as they met to discuss the final problem. He shot out of the armchair and into Molly's bedroom, waking her from a peaceful sleep with a scare. "Sherlock?!" She breathed in as the adrenaline pulsed. "What? What is it?"

"The phone, Moriarty's phone. Where is it?" He came to her and took her by the shoulders, pulling her out of the bed and walking her into the living room. He shook a long finger at the toppled box and watched her intently. "You said all of his things were in the box, everything that was on him."

"Y-yes. Everything got put into the box and handed to me. I saw the medical examiner place his phone in the box. I didn't remove anything-" Molly was still trying to wake up. Sherlock shaking her with distaste was helping a bit.

"It's not there. How can it not be there!" Sherlock stopped and stomped about the room. He righted the box and searched once more, throwing things here and there, turning the Westwood suit inside out with nothing to show for it. He stopped. Molly stood, watching, waiting unknowingly for whatever might come next. She was learning just how unpredictable Sherlock truly was. How did John deal with this on a 24/7 basis? He must be a saint. "Wait. Someone had to have taken it. The day the box was given to you and you were stashing it in your office...did anyone else come in that day?"

"Well, no not anyone unusual I suppose." Molly yawned. Sherlock was on her once again, holding her characteristically by her shoulders, nearly shaking her once more.

"Think, think, Molly. Anyone? Anyone at all?" Sherlock watched her, read her, with eyes as steel blue grey as they had ever been. Lord, they changed with his moods it seemed. Beautiful colors all around. She wondered what color they were earlier as they were, well...Sherlock shook her once more, harder this time. "Anyone, Molly."

She closed her eyes tightly and searched her memory to the best of her ability. "Um...medical examiner. My boss, although he didn't venture near the box as I had it beside the desk on the floor and he didn't come very far into the room." She squinted her eyes closed tighter, visibly concentrating, Sherlock stopped the shaking at the sight of it. She was trying. "John and Mrs. Hudson came by to let me know the details of the funeral-" Just as abruptly as she was taken hold of she was released. Sherlock paced, a disgruntled mix of concern and exasperation on his chiseled face. "What? You think John took it?"

"It's the most obvious answer and the worst expected one." Sherlock was rubbing his face, truly miffed and looking more worried by the moment. The show of emotion on his face was new to Molly, and the range she was having the pleasure of viewing was not what she would have liked to have seen. "John is just as bad as I am. He would have taken it, knowing that I would have searched it had I been the one to get my hands on it. John means to get revenge, I'm almost sure of it." He stopped and turned, his eyes sad oceans of cerulean as he looked at her. "We have to get it back."

Molly laughed, not the reaction she meant to give him, but the random one that just happened to eek out at the moment. "Sorry. No, how?" Was all she could muster between tripping over her own tongue in surprise.

"We are going to have to go to 221 Bakerstreet and take it back. If John intends to take revenge on Moriarty by doing as I plan to, he will get himself killed, or worse..." Sherlock visibly shook the thought from his head and turned.

"How are we going to do that, Sherlock? One look at you and he'll more than likely deck you...and Mrs. Hudson will think she's seen the living dead and possibly keel over right there." Molly was shaking her head and hands, trying her best to state the argument. She knew it would get her nowhere. Once Sherlock was intent on doing something, it would be done for better or for worse.

"The art of disguise, Ms. Hooper." Sherlock sprung an idea and it lit up his entire face as it grew inside his mind. "And deception. I'll obviously need your hand with this." He started back towards his guest room and Molly sat in the armchair, gathering herself. She was exhausted, after the events of the night and the sex...No complaining there, but being taken by Sherlock took a lot out of a girl. Now they were going to sneak into John Watson's flat and steal back a phone he most likely had hidden. The man owned a gun for goodness sake and by Sherlock's descriptions was a crack shot and a damned good one at that. This was going to require a lot of finesse, and a lot of luck. She didn't know if she had the energy for either or both.

Sherlock reappeared, still dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown. She had expected he was flinging clothes on left and right. "It can't be done tonight. We must try for it tomorrow. We will work out a plan in the morning. Goodnight, Ms. Hooper." He turned heel and slammed his door behind him, causing Molly to jump. She trodded back to her own room, and climbed into the bed, rolling over onto her side to stare up at the bright full moon outside her flat window. She sighed. Despite everything, she had hoped the loving had been a turning point for the two of them, although a very logical part of her mind told her she knew it was folly to think that Sherlock had taken to her. He merely needed to relieve some stress, get over it. Not like it's going to happen again.

Before she knew it the tears were there and soaking her pillow as she pulled it to her. She tried to muffle the sounds of her sobs as she did so, as she didn't think she preferred him coming back into the room and asking what the devil was wrong with her. Sherlock did not care for her as a significant other, not anymore now than at any other time, and she had expected it. The thought still hurt though. She refused to state the word 'used' as her part in their physical relationship, but the tears didn't stop there. She was allowed to cry. She was helping him, he was her friend, no matter what, but the emotion state of things was such a wreck and she had always been too emotional...

The bed dipped, and she was momentarily startled. She held her breath, and a strong, lean arm wound around her from behind and hugged her close. She continued to cry. If he wanted to hear it or not, she didn't care. If she didn't let it out then she'd practically burst. He moved in close to her and held her to him to comfort her. It wasn't long before the smell and warmth of him helped Molly to drift off to sleep, whether from exhaustion or comfort, it wasn't known.

Sherlock had sensed that she would do this. The elation from the act could only last so long, as was the way of hormones and chemical reactions in the body. He knew what she was thinking, and she was partly right. He didn't like to word 'used', but he had most certainly used her for his own purposes that evening. He was confused. He liked Molly in the sense that she was helping him and giving him everything he needed, but as for the feeling of 'love' he wasn't sure he felt it. He didn't know if he had ever felt it. But the sounds of heartbroken sobbing that floated through the tiny flat were distracting and uncomfortable and he wanted it to stop. It seemed the best way to do so was to comfort. Sherlock wasn't sure how to comfort someone, as he clearly had never needed it from someone else before.

The decision to pad down the hallway and climb into bed next to Molly was one partly of impulse to stop the female reaction. It was due in part to guilt he suspected as well. Sex was a tender subject with females. Sentiment. He held her close, feeling the slowing of the beating of her heart, feeling the wracking sobs in her chest reduce to the slow rise and fall, and the feeling of having someone here with him wasn't all the bad either. As he rested his head on the pillow his own mind began to slow, to allow him to rest as well. Thoughts of John. Thoughts of them in the case of the Hound of Baskerville. He had seen the thing, seen its massive bulk and glowing red eyes, and yet as he sat in front of the fireplace at the Cross Keys Inn, John had reassured him that everything was okay, to reconsider and not get worked up. Was that John comforting him? Perhaps John played a larger part in his life than he had previously realized. He didn't think he would miss him nearly as much as he did.

Okay, that was a lie. He knew from the moment he had made the call on top of St. Bartholomew's hospital to John that he was going to miss John. What he didn't account for was how badly he would feel for hurting his friend. He was nothing without John. Molly could only halfway listen to his prattlings on about deductions. John joined in them. His impulsive ways were tolerated by Molly, if not with a note of surprise, or concern. John tolerated them as well, and most definitely joined in on them when he felt the need to follow Sherlock if only to make sure he didn't get himself killed. His soldier, that's what John was. Sherlock sighed. John. He had never realized just how much the man had truly meant to him, and to think of him caused pains in his heart and deeper than any physical pain could reach. Sleep snuck up on Sherlock just as it had Molly, and within thoughts of those that they longed for most, they comforted each other within the company of each other.


	9. Chapter 9

This is absolutely ludicrous, Molly thought to herself as she stepped out of the taxi and stood staring at the door in front of her. Absolutely crazy, and never going to work. She wrapped her coat up tighter around her against the cold wind that blew through Bakerstreet. Sherlock had insisted that he could pull this off without being seen. She was the distraction. She hoped she wouldn't mess this up.

She stepped up on the front step of 221B Bakerstreet and knocked the knocker lightly. A moment Mrs. Hudson answered the door and smiled warmly at her. "Good evening, dear! What brings you here at this time of the evening? Come in, come in!" She shooed Molly in as was her motherly way and Molly stepped in thankfully. Mrs. Hudson took her coat before she could say anything and hung it up in the hall closet.

"Just popping by to visit John. Figured he could use a little cheering up." Molly smiled genuinely back at her and Mrs. Hudson gave her a quick hug.

"Such a dear, you are, Molly Hooper. Ever since...well, you know, he's in need of a little mirth." She patted Molly on the back and motioned towards the stairs. "He's up in the flat, although I'm not completely sure what he's been up to. Quiet like lately. I suppose it was because Sherlock-" She caught herself, a hand to her heart as if to keep the rest of it from breaking. "Well, Sherlock was the noisier of the two. I'll be in my flat if you need anything dear." She smiled and went off down the hallway to her own part of the building. Molly glanced up the stairs and sighed to herself. Gods, this isn't going to end well. She shook the negativity from her head and started up the stairs slowly.

Things were quiet in the flat as she stood in the doorway and leaned in to see if anyone was present. The lights were on, the telly as well although it was turned down to a mumble. No one was in sight. She rapped a few times on the door and walked in. Everything was still as it had been when she had last been here. John had kept everything as it had been before Sherlock's fall. Her chest twinged at the sentiment of the situation. "John?" She called out. Mrs. Hudson had been sure he was here, so she figured perhaps he was upstairs in his room.

A stirring at the curtain in the corner beside Sherlock's graffitid smiley face upon the wall caused her to jump. A figure, barely seen crept inside. Sherlock, you bastard. She glared at him. She had known he planned on sneaking into the flat, but she didn't expect him to startle her as she was trying to play her scripted part. No more movement, she could barely see him after that.

"Molly." A voice startled her from the kitchen. She whirled about to see John standing and running a hand through his salt and peppered hair. He was dressed in one of Sherlock's old dressing gowns and what seemed little else. "Sorry. I was in the other room. I didn't hear you come in." He seemed to be a little more at peace this evening than the last time she same him.

"That's okay, I'm sorry to just stop by but I was in the area and thought I'd see how you were holding up." Molly smiled, happy to see he wasn't too much of an emotional wreck, at least on the outside. John's attention faltered to something behind her and he started towards the windows that looked out over Bakerstreet. Oh no, Molly panicked inside and watched as he limped past her towards the window. Oh, John. The limp is back. It was becoming more and more evident that John was reverting back to his old ways pre-Sherlock and it saddened her to see him struggle across the flat without a cane to support his psychosomatic limp. He reached the flailing curtain and looked curiously out the window. She could almost read the thought process. I didn't leave the window open, I never do that. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson... He pulled the window to and locked it before turning back to her.

"Forgive me for not being more prepared." He motioned to his outfit and chuckled. She laughed as well. "Not quite appropriate." Movement in the hallway near the stairs. John started to look, reading that thought process again. Molly leapt forwards and hugged John tightly.

"I just miss seeing you so much!" She stumbled over her words but figured the hug was quite effective. John hesitated before hugging her back, and the hug was sincere. She released him. John's face was a blush, and she smiled. John wasn't a bad bloke by any means, she hadn't ever even considered him. She was so starstruck by Sherlock she seemed to overlook everyone else.

"I miss you too, Molly." John smiled at her and his eyes lingered on hers for a moment. What's he thinking now? Perhaps Molly fancies me? Maybe he was feeling like Sherlock had been the night before...gods, she couldn't imagine...She took an unconscious step backwards. "Would you like some tea?" He started into the kitchen and Molly stood her ground in the living room.

"That would be lovely, thank you." She tucked her hair behind her ear. Sherlock had instructed her to make herself "presentable", as if she didn't think she looked good otherwise. Sherlock viewed her as rather plain, and had told her hair down, makeup and lipstick in place. She watched John as he prepared the tea, at a loss for words. Movement near the back bedroom. Sherlock was creeping around his old sleeping digs. Which direction exactly had John come from when he had startled her? "So, no more upstairs?"

John looked up curiously and shook his head, the smile faded quickly. "No. My leg..." He stopped and frowned. "It's easier access in the back bedroom." He faked a grin for her and started towards her with their teacups and saucers. She took hers gratefully, sipped, and watched the area for more movement. She could see Sherlock, heading into the kitchen. What was he doing? He would be less than ten feet away from John in a matter of moments. She didn't know what to do. It became clear that Sherlock was going to try and sneak through the kitchen and up the stairs. I am going to have to play my hand. I'll kill him. "So-" John's sentence was cut short as he started to turn, perhaps hearing a strange noise behind him, and Molly took her cue once again and planted a kiss on John's lips.

She hadn't known what to do. It seemed the most logical distraction she could think of. What was the harm in a kiss anyway? It worked. She watched Sherlock out of the corner of her eye shoot her an extremely shocked and confused look before he silently flew out of the kitchen and up the stairs while she held the kiss. She had half expected John to tear himself away in confusion and yet he held the kiss as well. She drew away and looked him deep in the eye. "I-I'm-" She stuttered, not knowing where to go from here. John stood with his eyes closed, an unreadable emotion upon his tired face. Had she broken him? She was playing with a wounded heart, and she didn't feel right about it. "I'm sorry, John." She rubbed her arm absentmindedly, shifting her weight from one hip to the other and feeling completely awkward. John opened his eyes and only gazed back at her. Her mouth worked to find the right words but there were none.

"Molly-" He started and she kissed him again. What was she doing?! She kissed him, and noted the relaxation in his hands as they embraced her and he joined in the kiss. They were moving. Backs against kitchen table, walls, refrigerator, and onto the softness that had been Sherlock's bed and was now John's in remembrance. She pushed the dressing gown off of John's shoulders, noting the scars and the bullet hole scar that adorned his left shoulder as she did so. He was wearing something underneath, thank goodness. Bright red boxer briefs. She suppressed a mental giggle. For being a soldier he was surprisingly soft and gentle in his movements as he ran his hands over her and kissed her.

John was hurting too. He needed to relieve some stress, that's all. He doesn't love me either. I'm just a tool to help redirect all of the grief and agony...Molly felt she was going to drive herself insane trying to compensate for the other half that each of the men were missing. At least it was an enjoyable use of her time. They continued in their actions. He had better be searching that damned living room while I'm 'distracting' John for him. She opened her eyes and took a look about the room as John kissed her softly down her neck. Oh, this was evil. His lips were doing things to her skin that was causing disturbances in other places. He had the same idea, as his hardness was pressing against her. A tall figure in the doorway. She nearly shrieked as he startled her again. Sherlock was watching them! She was angry. She waved him away in between embracing John. He didn't move. He was fixated. Was he angry? Was he curious? Was Sherlock Holmes a voyeur? She wasn't about to do the deed in front of him with his best friend. Believe it or not she had morals. She took John's square jaw in her hands and softly drew him away from her heated skin. He looked at her.

"John..." She whispered softly and he stopped. He seemed to get the hint. Her eyes flickered towards the doorway. No Sherlock. John crawled backwards on the bed and sat, chest heaving, trying to slow himself. He looked down.

"What was that?" He chuckled in confusion. He was looking for his dressing gown, and found it tossed on the floor. He bent to pick it up. Molly stopped him and brought his hand back up towards hers. "If I went too far I'm sorry but it was you that kissed me."

"I know, John. I'm so sorry." Molly was feeling the guilt within her. She had ingenuinely seduced a heartbroken man in his own house and now she wasn't allowing the follow through. She felt wicked.

"I know that we are having to compensate for the loss of a loved one, but I'm not quite sure this is about anything more than that. On either part." John shook his head. He seemed vulnerable, and not just because he sat in front of Molly Hooper in his bright red boxer briefs with half an erection.

"No, ah, I'm just not a no date kind of girl." Molly tried to make a joke. John glanced at her and gave her a slight smile. Right direction? Hmmm. "I mean, I don't want you to think I'm a tart or anything. I would prefer to get to know you better so that neither of us gets hurt..." She took his hands in hers and squeezed them reassuringly.

"I completely understand. We both let it get away from us." John brought her hands up to his lips and kissed them sweetly. "How about a date first then? Perhaps Saturday night? I could pick you up at eight?" The mood was lightening.

"That would be wonderful." Molly grinned back at him and they stood. He gathered the dressing gown and put it on, allowing one last glimpse at the battle scars that he had valiantly earned in the service. "At least I got a good first look, right?" She laughed and John joined her. She was feeling relieved that the awkwardness was lessened. He walked her to the stairs. They stood for a moment and said nothing. "I suppose I'll be going now. I look forward to Saturday."

"Good evening, Molly Hooper." John leaned forward and placed an innocent peck on her cheek. She blushed, remembering all the kissing of just a few moments prior and headed down the stairs. She hailed a cab and hurried the cabby to drive her to her flat. She was confused, turned on, and worried that Sherlock may be angry with her over her technique. Then again, so what if he cared or not? She wasn't tied down to him and John was single. She wasn't a tart. She had proved that. Her stomach was a tangle of knots and butterflies as she watched the scenery pass outside the cab window. She only hoped that Sherlock had found what it was he was looking for.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock paced back and forth in Molly's tiny flat. He had it. He had found the small black phone in John's upstairs bedroom. The one he apparently had taken to not using. Sherlock had glanced the limp and it disappointed him. Was disappointed the wrong word? It made his heart feel heavy and his throat feel dry. But he had the phone. John had been very very clever and had tried to hide it well, but he was still no match for Sherlock. He had killed two birds with one stone; protecting his friend from getting himself killed on a most definite suicide mission, and finding the one piece of the puzzle he could start fitting together now that he had it in his possession. He could barely contain his willpower to open the phone and start exploring. But he needed to get something out of the way with Molly first.

Molly had been excellent. Fantastic! He could not have asked for a better distraction for John while he searched about the flat. He was at first completely thrown by the kiss she had planted on John's lips, but his reaction had turned to one of kudos to Molly for pulling such a ploy. The confusion for him had only stayed when he had found the phone, come to his old bedroom to give Molly the signal that they were successful, and had viewed the two of them nearly going at it on his bed. Which was worse? Watching John on top of Molly with obvious lust in every graceful, fluid movement, or watching Molly being once again taken over by a desiring male?

These conflicting thoughts were increasingly numerous and it was causing Sherlock a lot of grief. He only wanted to get to the bottom of Moriarty's schemes and hopefully bring things back to normal. Instead, he was slightly jealous of the tangle of arms and kisses that were Molly and John. He felt no possession of Molly, and yet he had no possession of John either. Why was it that while he watched, despite Molly's desperate attempts to shoo him off, he could see John doing those things to him? He could imagine John pouring his emotions out onto him in a loving embrace...he had no reason to think such things...damn all of this sentiment! The mess was getting deeper and harder to dig through. All of his emotion and thoughts of John, and those fire engine red underwear...Sherlock felt a familiar feeling creeping in. So soon, too soon. How would he react this time?

Molly flung herself through the door of the flat and slammed it behind her. Sherlock stood, phone in hand, still in coat and scarf and watched her without reaction. She leaned against the door. Is she upset? Angry? Embarrassed? Sherlock sensed a little of everything. Poor Molly. This was probably harder on her than on either him or John. She caught her breath although surely she had taken a cab home instead. "So?" She asked him breathlessly.

Sherlock held up the phone and gave it a little toss. She smiled, relieved once more. At least everything had been for a good reason. She didn't know what she would have done if he'd not found it after all of the excitement. "Thank goodness." She seemed to lose all of the energy she had left. She walked through and headed towards the hallway. "Well, if we're done here I'm headed to bed. I don't think I can take anymore tonight." Sherlock caught her and pulled her to him.

"We most certainly are not done here." He held her tightly and would not allow her to budge. He only looked at her, searching her face and eyes as was his way.

"Look, Sherlock, if you're mad that I kissed him then it's really none of your-" Molly started, trying to be angry, somewhat fearful of what the reaction was going to be. He stared at her, the emotions and excitement building up within him. Watching Molly and John had been rather arousing and he hated to admit it. He couldn't help himself. Was it imagining he was in Molly's position that did it or merely watching the display of desire from a third party view?

Without further hesitation Sherlock pushed her up again the living room wall and kissed her much like he had the night before but with force and need. He was full of lust and want. Perhaps Molly was still stirred up from her early encounter and would comply. He hoped. He was in luck. Molly returned the kiss with renewed vigor. There was no time for comfort or gentleness. He was reviewing the sights he had taken in and needed her NOW.

Sherlock stripped Molly out of her t-shirt and jeans without much effort. Molly allowed it, her lust for Sherlock once again raging full force. She kind of liked the rough Sherlock. She was experiencing all kinds of firsts with the man who previously hadn't even noticed her existence. Once her bra was off he pressed himself against her and cupped her breasts in each hand. Molly sighed with pleasure as he took to keeping his hands and mouth busy. "Undress me. Quickly." He breathed into her ear and sent a shiver down her naked spine. She nearly ripped the buttons off of his shirt as she did so and stripped off both his jacket and shirt in one fell swoop. His trousers and briefs were around his ankles before anything more could be thought. Molly was learning to make quick work of clothing.

Once Sherlock realized he was properly exposed he pressed more tightly against her and let her feel the length of him. He was impressive, Molly couldn't lie. He was rubbing her the right way in all the right places and she feared she might come before he was even inside her. Her moans and gutteral breaths were pushing Sherlock over the edge. He'd barely touched her and she was already ready to burst. "No." His voice was rough and firm. Molly caught her breath. "Not yet."

He embraced her, nearly panting, and swung her to the floor, on top of her in a matter of seconds and within the warmth of her not long after. Molly cried out as he pushed inside her and he silenced her once more with his mouth and exploring tongue. He was so primal, Molly could no longer contain herself as he began to thrust. He knew that after her previous night's deflowering, he needn't be completely gentle with her. He thrust harder and harder, the buildup within him reaching uncontainable levels. He cared not to be a gentleman this night and allow her release before him. If he came before she did it would serve her right for kissing John as she had. John... John nearly naked and ready for anything. Molly thankfully cried out once more, his name like honey on her lips, as she came gloriously around him. The conflicting thoughts of John and the feeling of Molly's delicious body around him caused him to cry out as well as he released himself.

Sherlock nearly collapsed on top of her, but caught himself and merely laid his head against her chest. He listened to her heart race, her chest rising and falling, trying to catch up. Every fiber of his being was spent. Thankfully the racing thoughts of newfound feelings of his friend were calmed. Perhaps now he could sleep knowing that he had the phone in his possession. He righted himself, sitting up on the floor and glanced at Molly.

She lay, breasts heaving, naked and glistening with sweat upon her living room floor. Her eyes were closed, as if she didn't dare look at him. Relishing the moment? Scared of what she might see if she opened them? He didn't know. Sherlock stood, naked and not caring, and picked her up off of the floor. Molly flung her arms about his neck and allowed herself to be carried. He made their way into the bathroom, standing her upright and starting the shower. He stepped in and took her hand, leading her into the shower with him. Molly grinned goofily to herself as he turned her around and soaped up her hair and her body with the fluidity of his slender fingers.

She knew not where this affectionate gesture was coming from, but she wasn't going to argue with it. His reaction to the entire situation had not been one she had expected. She wanted yelling, arguing, a scolding even. Instead she got rough and ready Sherlock. He pushed her slightly underneath the water to rinse her and then turned her to him. She only ventured to glance up at his handsome face before he nonchalantly turned and stood, awaiting service to be returned. She gladly complied, although shampooing his hair proved a bit difficult considering the height difference.

Nothing was said after the shower commenced. They toweled off, dressed in their robes, and settled down to a bit of telly before bed. She didn't broach the subject of John, or the phone for that matter, as Sherlock seemed perfectly content to sit in his armchair and play with the phone. She knew not what was going through his head, but she was too tired to even try a conversation at the moment. She would ask tomorrow when perhaps he had a plan, or something astronomically genius to explain from his deductions. She also couldn't help the feeling of warmth that crept through her when she spied the spot on the floor where not long before she had been taken by force by a man overwhelmed with emotion


	11. Chapter 11

Unbeknownst to Molly, Sherlock had taken to venturing out of the flat while she was at work and tailing his friends. He disguised himself, or rather he was able to remain unseen when he didn't want to be seen. Frankly, he was bored, and he knew he would eventually have to venture out if he was going to be seeking out Moriarty's minions. So far it seemed to work. No one recognized him in his "disguises" while he was out, as they were all too busy bustling about with their daily lives. The double suicide was quickly beginning to lose the interest of the commonwealth. Sherlock took to learning much about his friends' daily lives and their moving on in the world.

Sherlock often watched Detective Inspector Lestrade while he was at crime scenes as it would have been too conspicuous to try and make it up to homicide at Scotland Yard with as many people knew him there. Following Lestrade often frustrated him though, as he could quickly deduce the crime scenes which would probably take Lestrade's team days to uncover the vital and obvious clues that Sherlock picked up on from afar. He followed Lestrade long enough to note the disappointment and frustration upon his face, yet he looked a little less tired and worn than John.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to be doing the best out of the three of them post death. He followed her to the market, to brunch time outings with her girl friends, and bingo nights. She was beginning to look a little better, although he caught her having a cry here and there when she was within 221B when she came across something he most certainly was sure reminded her of him. It pulled at his heart a bit, as he missed her motherly ways.

John was the one he frequently tailed the most, as it was hard not to pull himself away from watching John. He missed his blogger, his closest confidant. John had regained his limp, much to Sherlock's dismay. He carried himself awkwardly on the cane next to his right leg as he walked. He rarely left the flat, occasionally eating at Speedy's Cafe or venturing to Scotland Yard whenever Lestrade called for him. Although he was no consulting detective, John was still of use being an army doctor and all. He seemed a little more alive when he was on scene with Lestrade, but the sadness still shone through in his face whenever no one seemed to be looking.

This particular evening Sherlock found himself once again in 221B. He had made a habit out of sneaking in when John and Mrs. Hudson were out to see how things were coming along. Plus, it was home. Molly's flat was good and all but it was no Bakerstreet. Not much had changed, perhaps it was a little tidier. Whether that was John or Mrs. Hudson he couldn't tell. Sherlock had always been the messier of the two of them. Sherlock was not here just to hang about and be nostalgic this time though. He had an agenda. While scrolling through Moriarty's phone, he had discovered the SD card was missing from its slot. Whether Moriarty had ever had one installed he wasn't sure, but he could not chance not having every piece of information at his disposal. If the SD card was anywhere to be found, he was pretty sure it was either lost in this flat, or hidden by crafty John Watson.

Sherlock found himself searching John's upstairs bedroom to no avail. What would you put an SD card in anyway? Camera, a phone was an obvious choice but he knew that the SD card would not fit in John's iPhone as it had no place for one, a laptop. That was it. He needed to find John's red laptop. He could not locate it in the bedroom so he wandered down stairs to search the living room to no avail. Had he taken it with him? He couldn't imagine John needed it at Scotland Yard, he rarely left the apartment with it if ever.

Sherlock soon found himself in his old bedroom searching about. Nothing much had been changed in here either. John was perhaps keeping things they way he had them due to sentiment, and that made Sherlock sad but a little relieved. His friend was not too eager to move on and this was promising. He had not tailed John to any former girlfriends, or new girlfriends for that matter, and so he was sure he could wrap this up soon before someone else tried to creep in and take his place in John's life. They had it perfectly, just the two of them. Any outside intrusion boiled Sherlock's blood, though why he had never really wondered until lately.

As Sherlock was searching the closet full of John's clothing for the supposively hidden laptop, he heard the door to 221B open and shut. Mrs. Hudson, returned so soon? Sherlock situated himself quickly inside the closet and shut the shuttered closet doors to him, arranging the clothing in front of him as to not be too noticeable. He waited for the familiar open and shut of Mrs. Hudson's flat door but heard nothing of the sort. Shit. Uneven footsteps were advancing on the stairs. John had returned sooner than expected. Sherlock quieted his breathing as he listened for John's movements. John was usually a creature of habit, so it was a waiting game for Sherlock.

Sherlock recognized the start of the shower in the bathroom beside the bedroom and watched as John limped into the bedroom and sat on the bed facing the closet. Hello, John. Sherlock longed to burst out of the closet and present himself alive and well to his friend, but knew he could not. He only watched as John sat in thought for a moment. Then he started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Oh gods. Sherlock stifled a quick intake of breath and John removed the shirt. The bullet scar on his left shoulder was sickeningly white and twisted. Sherlock had never been privy to seeing it before, as John was a somewhat private person when it came to the war and to the injuries he sustained. He removed his shoes and socks and stood, his back to the closet now. Sherlock watched in growing wonder as John removed his jeans to reveal once again bright red boxer briefs. He's definitely a lot healthier physically than I took him for, Sherlock noted. John was indeed a picturesque model of muscle and tone. He had not been much post bullet wound when he had first met Sherlock, but he had improved his physique long since. Sherlock was impressed and surprised to say a little turned on.

Thankfully, John took hold of the cane once more and limped off towards the bathroom. Sherlock waited to hear the door click shut and the waters cacophony change as John stepped into the water. Naked. Sherlock shook the thought from his head. How could he be thinking these things? John was most certainly heterosexual and Sherlock had never thought himself to be anything but asexual. The last few days definitely proved that he favored the fairer sex. It's all the emotion and sentiment that is making you think such things, he told himself. But was that really true?

Sherlock sprung into action, noting that John was army and probably not going to be in the shower long. He put the closet back as he had found it and raced towards the stairs to 221B. Before he could venture down the door was opening and closing again. Damn it, Mrs. Hudson! He glanced up the stairs to John's bedroom and took them instead. There was a fire escape just outside the window. He could escape from there. He stepped towards the window and, glancing down, noted the corner of a red laptop peaking out from underneath the bed. How in the hell had he missed such an obvious thing? He dismissed the thought and bent to retrieve the laptop in the dark. He looked for the SD slot on the side and found it, popping out what was within, only to note it was the factory included piece of black plastic included to keep the slot clean when not in use. He was naggingly frustrated. Perhaps there really had been no card.

He was face down on the floor before he could have deduced anything further. A strong presence forced his arms up behind his back and smashed his face into the carpet painfully. How had he not noticed anyone in the room? He was instantaneously fearful for John. Suppose it were another of Moriarty's assassins, looking for the phone surely. Or perhaps to take revenge on the death of their leader? He went to yell out, to warn John, despite blowing his own cover. A hand clamped over his mouth and slammed his head into the carpet once more, momentarily disorienting him. He was flipped over onto his back, the intruder sitting upon his chest and pinning his arms up beside his head on either side. He opened his eyes and was doubly shocked to note that it was John Watson, wet and glistening in the moonlight, pinning him to the ground. His face was nearly unreadable, but he could not the anger in John's eyes. Sherlock relished his relief only momentarily.

"John, I can expla-" Sherlock's head rocked to the right as John delivered a shattering right hook to his face. His vision swam with the force of the punch. His eyes found John's once again. John was visibly angered now.

"You bloody son of a bitch." John heaved, his chest notably heaving, perhaps with the anger that was resonating through his low voice. Lethal, poisoned hatred almost could be deduced. Sherlock knew that John would probably be upset but this...

"John, plea-" Sherlock tried again and John punched him once more. A bit of warmth could be felt on his cheek. He figured it was probably blood. Still, his heart tightened in his chest. He felt the guilt coursing through him. The emotional damage to John Watson was extensive. Much more than he thought John had experienced. If ever he had been wrong about a deduction, it was that John would find the strength to move on without too much pain for too funeral had just been a few days ago though...

"You bastard. How could you?" John's grip on Sherlock's wrists tightened to a painful point, but Sherlock made no struggle. He quieted and gazed into John's face and allowed the assault, verbally and physically if that's what it took. Sherlock was relieved Watson did not have his gun pulled as well. Then again, where would he have put it? Sherlock's eyes danced over the lower half of Watson, dressed in those bright red boxer briefs and obviously fresh out of the shower without toweling off. Sherlock's body was betraying him and his thoughts. He only hoped that John was angry enough he wouldn't notice the disturbances below in Sherlock's trousers. "You went off and let us think you were dead, what kind of sadistic fucking person does that?"

Sherlock thought to chance it a third time. "John," He started, and when he was not assailed by a balled up fist he continued. "I had to fake my death to save you. To save Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. You would have all been assassinated if I hadn't jumped." Sherlock gulped. His body was really reacting sinfully to the sights and sounds that were his closest friend, as well as they adrenaline and excitement of the reunion. Although it had not turned out as he had planned it might.

"No, Sherlock." John shook his head in disgust. "That phone call you made to me before you jumped off that bloody roof-" He seemed to stifle a sob here but recovered beautifully. Sherlock felt that chest tightening clench again. "All you had to do was tell me that this had to be done...but that it wasn't real. Given me a plan. We could have done this together." John finally stared him straight in the face, in the eyes. What besides malice was alive in John's eyes? Sherlock for once could not read more than just anger in John, and it was exciting. No, wrong choice of words. Sherlock face palmed himself mentally. His erection was growing more noticeable. Did John sense it too?

"Your reaction would not have been believable, John." Sherlock was sad. Was there another way that this could have played out? He had planned his death so well, Molly had been brilliant. Even his own brother Mycroft had been decently convinced his brother had fallen to his death. "I couldn't chance you thinking otherwise. I couldn't let you die." Sherlock felt the grip loosen on his wrists. John's reaction was changing to one of relief, sadness, confusion. He seemed suddenly very tired. He released Sherlock entirely and sat up, looking out at something in the distance out the window to gather his thoughts.

Sherlock viewed John as he sat up, nearly naked, wet and slick in the moonlight, and could contain himself no longer. His erection was full on and he would be damned if John could not tell. He was, after all, sitting directly on Sherlock's pelvis. "John." Sherlock lowered his voice seductively, probably without even meaning to. John looked back to him, a bit of surprise registering on his face. He felt it, surely he did. Sherlock could not help himself any longer. He reached up with his long, lean arms, took hold of John's face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Something electric between them lit Sherlock up like he was on fire and he explored John's mouth hungrily.

John did not instantly react, possibly out of surprise most likely, before he tore himself away from Sherlock and his dangerously addictive kiss. He held Sherlock at arms length and looked at him with a mix of surprise, horror, and confusion. "Sherlock, I'm not gay." Sherlock worked himself more into a sitting position, but John made no movement to get up from his lap. They sat, face to face in this way for many moments, but Sherlock was regaining himself, and his lust and want of comfort from John was in full force and ever growing.

"Neither am I." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. John made no movement, although he was most definitely aware of Sherlock's want through his trousers. Sherlock was aching, but did not want to damage his friend further. "I am merely expressing feelings for a very close and dear friend. I've realized over these past few days how much you really do care for me. And I for you." Sherlock put his hands on John's arms and they both relaxed. "It's a culmination of sentiment and affection, John. Have you not felt this way about one you love before?"

"Well, yes, but they were always women." John furrowed his brow. Sherlock smirked. "I've been with woman before, Sherlock. I'm not a bloody virgin."

"I know you aren't, John. But do note that you never stayed with any of them longer than a few weeks. I think Sarah made it a month. And yet, you never left my side. Not once for any woman. Nor I for any other." Sherlock was making his case. "I've realized that if I had anyone to spend this lifetime with it would be you, John. Outright." Sherlock had never felt so energized, so alive, so absolutely honest about anything else in his life.

"Gods, I missed you, Sherlock. I truly did." John bowed his head. Sherlock took hold of his solemn face once more and brought him forward, slowly. John did not pull away. Sherlock kissed him once more and they joined in a spasm of emotion.

Sherlock's hand ventured down to their hips, noting that John was raging as badly as Sherlock was. Something needed to be done. He stroked John lightly with only the fabric of his boxer briefs to separate skin from skin. John groaned into the kiss, and Sherlock continued on. John began to take on his own dominating role in the kiss as Sherlock used his other hand to grasp his ass and pull his hips further into his hand. Knowing it would not take much for John to reach his peak, he worked firmly and feverishly. John moaned and groaned into Sherlock's mouth, causing Sherlock to fear he might come before he allowed John to. John was nearly bucking into his hands and the friction was agonizingly blissful. Together their mouths and Sherlock's skillful hands worked each other into a frenzy, and John only broke the kiss to cry out his release. Not seconds later, Sherlock joined him, namely from the sinful noises John had been making and from the friction of John's member and hips upon his own.

John sat in Sherlock's lap with his arms draped tiredly around Sherlock's neck. They breathed rapidly together, hearts beating out of ribcages barely containing them, foreheads touching. Not a word was said. A few moments passed by before John stood. Sherlock helped himself up off the floor and sat on the bed, drained from their exercise and watch John pull an old bathrobe from the closet and put it on, covering up all of that lovely muscle and skin.

"So," John started in and bent, hands on knees, to catch his breath still. Sherlock sat silently and said nothing. This was something knew he was almost sure for John, and this fragile state could make or break their relationship going on. "What do we do now? The jig is obviously up."

Sherlock contemplated. Do I tell Molly? Mycroft? Pull an Irene Adler? I'm not dead, let's have dinner. Haha. How appropriate that had been to this situation. Too bad he couldn't have tried to be funny and use that line on John. Now they were stuck in this bloody bedroom discussing the next move after they had both had such an intense sexual experience. John wouldn't want to discuss it. He would have to let him broach that subject on his own. "I don't think the time is right to tell anyone else. Things are still too fresh. I don't want the assassins coming back and seeing that they've been fooled."

John nodded, his hands were now on his hips. "Agreed." He glanced up at Sherlock, as if he couldn't believe he was really real and sitting on his bed. "I suppose this should stay between us?"

"The fact that you know I'm alive, or the kiss?" Sherlock left out the sexual part, for John's current benefit. John squinted and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"Both, of course." He took his army stance once again. Once the soldier, always the soldier. Sherlock smiled. John crinkled his brow again. Sherlock tried to be serious.

"Of course. We will tell no one you know I'm alive. Until we can figure everything out and make sure no one returns to harm anyone it would be the wisest." Sherlock stood, hands behind his back. He looked John up and down. "Curious." He cocked his head at John. "The limp's disappeared? Were you faking it? Or have you just forgotten about it again?"

"Pretending. I'm fine. Figured the more wounded I looked, the least attention I would attract. I see you snuck in and found the phone. I couldn't find it last night. I was quite frustrated." John sighed.

"You're the frustrating one. I had to sneak in just to steal it back when I'd realized you were going to do something foolish like only I would do." Sherlock smirked. John returned the slight smile. Good. Things are loosening up some.

"Tea?" John asked, motioned to the stairs, and headed down them. Probably to get dressed. He knew John was feeling vulnerable and confused about the situation. Sherlock smiled to himself as he descended the stairs, his heart and body alive with emotions never felt before as well as a sense of enlightening relief to be known to his best friend once again


	12. Chapter 12

John awoke the next morning in Sherlock's old bed, a hand raised to keep the sunlight filtering through the window from blinding him. He felt relaxed, not tense as he felt so used to waking up as. He had had the most amazing dream...

Sherlock had been in his upstairs bedroom. Alive. Alive! He looked like his usual self. Of course, he had reacted in surprise and anger as John imagined he probably would if Sherlock really were alive, by punching him a couple of times. Missing his nose and teeth though. The cheekbones could handle the assault, as they had before in their famous Scandal In Balgravia case. Sherlock hadn't even been angry that he was being attacked. He had reacted differently, that was for sure. John felt himself blush when he remembered the events that had followed. He even felt the stirs of desire in his lower belly, uncoiling with a familiar heat.

John sighed. He instantly felt sorrowful. It had only been a dream. He had been so tired lately, there were times he wasn't sure what was reality and what was fantasy. He imagined that he saw Sherlock everywhere that he went, following him, watching him from across a street or from a window. John wished it could be true. He relished dreams like the one he had had the night before, as they were the only time he could see his friend again. He felt empty.

He could barely register more than surprise as the bed shifted and a long slender arm appeared beside him, running its long fingered hand down John's hip and thigh. He jerked and sat up straight in the bed, awe and horror painting his face pale. Sherlock lay on his side in the bed next to him, a slight grin on his handsome, chiseled face. "Good morning, Watson." He rested his head of dark curls on his hand and watched John intently. It hadn't been a dream! John wondered if he had gone off of the deep end. This was most unusual.

"You- you're not dead." John stuttered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You jumped off the bloody roof but you're in my bed." John feared he might faint. Sherlock righted himself in the bed.

"Honestly, John. Do you remember nothing about last night?" Sherlock sighed exasperated. John nodded slowly. "Then, why is this such a surprise?"

"I thought it was a dream. Surely it was a dream. I remember everything-" John stopped himself, feeling his skin flush with that heat. He remembered everything, and it was so wrong to imagine such things again. Suddenly John was angry again. Sherlock had tricked him and put him through this emotional hell that had consumed him in every moment, awake and asleep. John reared back and swung at Sherlock, but Sherlock caught his arm at the wrist and wrestled him down flat into the bed. "We've been through all of this already, John. Why do you hate me so?"

"Because you hurt me, Sherlock." John spat out at him as he lay looking up at his closest friend, his brilliant blue green eyes gazing down at him, his curls hanging haphazardly off of his forehead. He made to grab at Sherlock with his free hand and soon found it pinned as well. He struggled momentarily, much to Sherlock's amusement before collapsing in a huff upon the bed. "You hurt me deeper than I thought I could be hurt, as empty of a shell as I am."

Sherlock sat back and carefully released John's wrists. He had a wounded look in those beautiful eyes now. "I'm sorry, John." John noted he was in his best dressed, as usual, and that he had taken at this moment to removing his scarf from about that lovely neck while he spoke. "I knew there would be some hurt involved, as sentimental about things and people as you are. I did not expect you to be this hurt, honestly." He held the scarf in his hands and wrung them almost nervously.

"How could you not see how hurt I'd be?!" John was angry again, lunging upwards towards Sherlock to take hold and throttle some sense into him. Sherlock was faster, as he had ever been it would seem, and John found his hands bound with the scarf before he could react. Sherlock held them captive, above John's head, and fastened to the mattress pull. Sherlock sat up and admired his handiwork, a devilish grin replacing his smirky cocky one. John struggled once more but to no avail.

"I see it now." Sherlock bent, his face dangerously close to John's, his voice low and seductive. Only Sherlock. John gulped audibly and Sherlock chuckled. "Why so nervous? You had no qualms about it last night." Sherlock bent closer and laid a kiss upon John's tightly drawn lips. John allowed it but scowled when Sherlock released him.

"I think I remember telling you last night, Sherlock, dream or no dream, that I'm not like that. I don't find this funny." He glared at Sherlock, but could not help the stir within his loins. He only hoped that Sherlock wouldn't notice.

"I'm completely serious." Sherlock dropped the smile. A predatory look gleamed in his sharp eyes. John felt a gulp coming on once again. He couldn't help himself. He felt a pull towards Sherlock that was almost electric. He cared so deeply for his friend that he could safely call it love, although he didn't think he was referring to this type of love. Was it so wrong? All of the relationships he had given up for Sherlock, all of the girlfriends that didn't work out...was there a reason? What possessed Sherlock to react in the way he had. Emotional distress seemed to be having a queer effect on the both of them, no pun intended. "Over the past few days, with only Molly to keep me company and long periods of thought by myself, I have found myself thinking only of you. In ways I never expected I ever would."

"I don't know how comfortable I am with this, Sherlock." John sighed. He wanted free from his restraints. "I've only ever been with women. I wouldn't know the first thing about-" He gasped as Sherlock reached down between his legs and stroked John's groin nonchalantly. John bucked, his erection very apparent now. That wasn't fair.

"I've only ever been with a woman before too, John." Sherlock's mind briefly flashed to Molly, although she was not the one he was referring to. That's strange. Of course, she had been the most recent. Perhaps that was the reason. "This should be a fun experiment for the both of us."

"I don't want to be one of your bloody experiments, Sherlock!" John cried out to keep from moaning as Sherlock continued to stroke him mercilessly. "I don't want to be a fuck buddy either."

"John," That wounded look again, as Sherlock stopped touching him so intimately. No, no, don't- stop. John couldn't believe he was thinking that. "You are not a fuck buddy. You are not merely an experiment. The act itself would be an experiment. It's more an expression of feeling and emotion, if that sounds better to you." Sherlock cocked his head curiously. You machine, John started and caught himself. Sherlock rarely referred to anything emotionally as more than just sentiment, but here and last night he had expressed feeling if only in words. This was different. Perhaps he isn't lying. Have I ever knowing Sherlock to just be after sex? In ANY form? John mentally agreed with himself. This was an expression of something.

"That's better." John stated. Sherlock's face was a bit surprised, and John could see why. He was arguing and now okay with it all? He wasn't sure, but the feeling in his groin was becoming unbearable and he was so emotionally overcome with happiness, relief, and an unspoken love for Sherlock that he was willing to comply. At least this time. Sherlock admired him for a moment. John rolled his eyes. "Okay, Sherlock." He spoke, voice lower, a need within him he could not control. "We are taking this slow. This is new, and although I do feel the same need and love for you that you have obviously taken to showing me, I am not one to rush into uncharted territory."

Sherlock considered this, and the grin played once again on his delicate lips. He grasped John's member through the sheet, a gasp escaping John's parted lips once more. "Agreed." He began to squeeze and release John, causing an agonizing pleasure. "We can take things slow. I do believe you'll agree that this territory is not new to you." John rolled his eyes again, knowing that Sherlock was referring to last night. Sherlock caught sight of the eye roll and gave a particularly firm squeeze to gather John's attention back to him.

Sherlock leaned down to lay kisses upon John's neck as his hand moved between the sheets to John's underwear. One hooked finger in the band and they were down around his knees, allowing John to spring free. Sherlock admired him through the tented sheet before slipping his hand over John's throbbing hardness and working him into a slow buildup of pleasure and desire. John moaned and sighed, not being able to help himself. Sherlock prided himself in the noises John was producing, his own cock growing hard at each and every whimper and sigh. It was not long before Sherlock worked feverishly, nipping at John's sensitive skin and pumping him. "Oh gods!" John cried out as Sherlock brought him to an explosive finish.

Sherlock rolled over onto John's right side, his head once again resting on his crooked elbow, a satisfied smile upon his face. He watched John triumphantly, a sheen of sweat adorning his body, an unmistakable glow as the heat from their act flowed through his veins, chest heaving. John had his eyes closed. Sherlock imagined that he was probably mentally kicking himself now that the act was over. A pang of regret and sadness struck Sherlock, and it wasn't welcome. Perhaps John did not feel the same that Sherlock did, had he misjudged their feelings for each other? He reached up quickly and undid the scarf from its tie around John's wrists. John brought them down to him and rubbed them mindlessly. He truly loved John. He shouldn't be pushing his affection on him if it was not returned. Of course, John cared for him and loved him, as a friend. Sherlock figured he hadn't given him much of a reason to fall in love with him. He knew he was egotistical, arrogant, and unpredictable.

"Definitely familiar territory." John gave a small laugh and ran his hand through his short peppered hair. He turned on his side to face Sherlock and glimpsed the strange confusion within Sherlock's eyes before he walled it off and gave John his usual smirk. Was it doubt? Was it regret? Was the great Sherlock Holmes rethinking his actions? John did feel love for Sherlock, and he was coming into greater realization of that just seeing him. Last night, this moment, it was all perfect. He was afraid of what people would think, he had always noted that to Sherlock's deaf ear it would seem. Sherlock cared nothing about what people thought of him, so it was not unusual that he was so open in his feelings at this moment. The only person he would care about would have to be...me.

It took John only one more moment of looking over Sherlock to make his decision. Sherlock was just as surprised when John leaned forward, grabbed his jacket collar, and pulled him into a deep, exploring kiss. If there were any doubt within Sherlock's mind, it dissipated immediately. His member twitched with excitement. "You can't have all of the control though, you're going to have to give something up." John stated as he drew back from the kiss. Sherlock's mind was fuzzy with adrenaline and desire, John's voice was faint in his ears.

"Hmm?" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John curiously. John noted the negativity seemed to have left him, and this was good. John brought his hand up and pushed Sherlock's jacket off of his shoulder. Oh, Sherlock registered. He sat up and removed his jacket, as John wanted. He came in for another kiss, but John shook his head no. Sherlock's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Sherlock, you've felt me up twice already and I'm nearly naked in front of you. I've not seen you without anything on yet. That's only fair." John had pulled his underwear back up over himself, much to Sherlock's dismay. He liked viewing John. Apparently John wanted to feel the same.

"Fair's fair I suppose." Sherlock unbuttoned his purple shirt and tossed it into the floor. John looked him over hungrily. Sherlock was all lean muscle and flawless skin. Sherlock couldn't help but grin at the lust in John's eyes. John reached forward and fingered the slight happy trail that disappeared lower into Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock glanced down. John had single fingeredly loosened the button on his trousers and unzipped his fly. Sherlock was throbbing painfully within the confines of his briefs, and feeling that finger brush up against him parted his lips in a way John understood.

"I want them off as well. We're to be equals in this." John commanded. Sherlock shimmied out of his trousers quickly until he knelt on the bed in only his black boxer briefs. He felt strangely vulnerable and exhilirated. John put a hand around his neck and brought him to his soft lips, exploring with his tongue, Sherlock returning it with zest. John snuck his free hand up to take hold of Sherlock through the thin fabric that held him and Sherlock moaned much to his surprise, and to John's satisfaction. "I've never done anything like this, so bear with me." He whispered into Sherlock's ear before taking hold of his curls at nape of his neck and tugging slightly. Sherlock's response was epic, a sinfully lustful sigh escaping his deep throat as John massaged his cock with tempting skill. Sherlock was quickly approaching his peak, although he wished the feeling of John's hands upon him would never end.  
John hooked his briefs and pulled them down to his lower thighs, admiring Sherlock as he sprung free as well. The length of him was phenomenal, and John felt a surge of lust flood him. He could feel himself rising again. How far was he willing to go? He laid back on the bed, guiding Sherlock on top of him by the tug of his hair and his hold upon his cock. He willingly complied. John brought him to his lips once more, and began to stroke Sherlock firmly and fluidly to match the energy of their kiss. Sherlock bucked a few times into John's hand and John allowed it, watching through an open eye Sherlock's hips as he fucked John's warm moist hand. John allowed his hand that was tangled in Sherlock's silky hair to wander down the length of his slender back to the curve of his ass and squeezed. Sherlock responded splendidly to the attention and bucked fiercely. Okay, no more waiting. John took hold of Sherlock's balls in one hand and massaged them as he tightened his grip on his twitching cock and began to work him over quickly and firmly. Sherlock spilled over his brink in a tidal wave of bliss and sensation and cried out loudly "John!" as he did so. Oh, you're a bad man, John thought to himself, Sherlock's crying of his name in ecstasy causing his arousal to peak as well, and he sighed as he came beneath Sherlock without so much as a touch.

Sherlock grasped the headboard in front of him for support as he looked down at John, panting. "Bloody fucking brilliant." John returned the smile and allowed Sherlock to plant one more kiss on his lips before he rolled off, spent, onto the bed.

"You think that was brilliant, just wait til we play doctor and patient. Ever had a prostate exam?" John joked. Sherlock looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. John chuckled to himself. He was joking. Wasn't he? Would he really take things as far as that with Sherlock? Better yet, would Sherlock allow it? That was getting a bit kinky. Then again, John had read many things on the act being pleasurable. Of course, if they were to be equals in this, that would mean he would have to be willing to have the same thing done to him. That was definitely uncharted territory.

John shook the thoughts from his head. Things were to be taken slow. They wouldn't be venturing on into anything further until John was absolutely sure that this was not just a culmination of love for his friend and the emotional strain they were all under. John's phone began to ring, startling them both. John looked over. "Oh gods."

"What is it?" Sherlock sat up, stretching, feeling blissfully relaxed, even in the broad daylight of his old bedroom with his naked companion laying next to him.

"Molly." John looked over at Sherlock with a pale face once more. "I told her I'd take her out tonight." He wondered whether he should answer. Sherlock motioned for him to do so. He quickly pressed the button. "Hello!" He sounded overly cheerful and slapped himself in the forehead. "Yes, I'm still planning on it. Are you? Good, okay. I guess I'll pick you up about seven if that's okay? Wonderful. I'll see you then." John quickly hung up and set the phone down shaking his head. "What do we do, Sherlock? Does she know that I know you're alive?"

"No." Sherlock stood. John admired his fit physique. He was allowed. After all that had been done to the either of them by them both he could look. "And it needs to stay that way. Meaning, if she gets frisky with you, you can't blow it."

John swung around in awe. "Seriously?! You and I have been doing very naughty things to each other and you are wanting me to shag Molly if she wants me to?"

"Yes, to maintain a sense of normalicy. What's so wrong with shagging Molly anyway? She's not a bad looking girl." Sherlock was dressing once more. John stepped out of bed to throw on his dressing gown. Well, Sherlock's dressing gown, he noted. "I did."

John's jaw literally dropped open. "Sorry, you what?!" He stared at Sherlock in surprise and dismay.

"Well, I hadn't planned on it." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he straightened his jacket. "You showed up at the apartment and told her all of those things and I got to thinking and couldn't control any of it." Sherlock shrugged. "My body betrayed me. I just wanted something to get rid of all of that damned...sentiment." He finished. John was still staring at him shocked.

"Just when I thought you couldn't-" John stopped himself and exited the room. Sherlock followed.

"What have I done wrong?" Sherlock followed quickly. He didn't want John angry with him, and he didn't see any harm in what had transpired between him and Molly. They had both been in need of comfort.

"The poor girl is already head over heels for you, Sherlock. If you really are wanting me the way we've been the last 24 hours, you're leading her on and that isn't right." John was clanging around in the kitchen now. Sherlock stood in the shadow of the hall. John stopped, realization dawning. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson went out for bridge a little while ago. You're safe."

"Well then, my dear Watson." Sherlock slapped him on the back and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I believe you'll need to change her mind about me."

John gave him a disapproving look, before pulling out ingredients for breakfast. Sherlock seated himself in his old armchair and watched him as he prepared their food, a look of love and wanting pooling in his eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

Molly scrambled about the tiny flat, flinging makeup about in the bathroom and clothes about her bedroom in a flurry of activity preparing for John's arrival. It was indeed Saturday night and she didn't think she would be near as nervous as she was. Sherlock sat in the armchair, sipping tea and scanning the newspapers Molly had brought to him. The rain had cleared up, as he could no longer hear it upon the windows of the flat. He glanced at Molly preparing herself. Why go through all the trouble? Sherlock mentally suppressed a grin. If she only knew. He sighed. Poor Molly. He knew that she didn't fancy John in that way, but he felt bad for her nonetheless. Had she always been this awkward?

There was a knock at the door and Sherlock stood. Molly twirled around, eyes on Sherlock that said hurry, hide. Sherlock gathered the newspapers and his tea and swept himself, dressing gown and pajama clad long legs into his temporary bedroom. Molly rushed to the door and opened it, allowing John Watson inside. She giggled nervously. "Hello!"

"Good evening, Molly." John smiled sincerely at her. She gave him a small, awkward hug. "Are you ready?'

"Yes, just let me grab my bag." Molly turned to search out her bag in the living room. John let his eyes flit around the small flat, searching for signs of Sherlock. He knew he was here, although Molly didn't have a clue. Poor Molly, John thought. It would be so much more convenient to let her know the gig is up. All in time, I suppose. Molly spun, bag in hand and gathered her coat. John helped her into it. "Ready!" Molly smiled sweetly. John couldn't help it, her cheerfulness was contagious. He allowed her through the door and took one last look into the flat. He glimpsed Sherlock from the hallway, standing in the darkness, illuminated only by the dim living room lamp that cast its light upon his features. He gave John a wicked grin and a wink before John shut the door quickly.

The cab ride to the restaraunt was somewhat silent, between awkward attempts at conversation. The both of them sat contemplating what was to happen. Molly looked John over, marveling at how his color had come back. How he seemed more alive. Perhaps he was starting to come to terms with Sherlock's supposive death. Molly couldn't help but feel relieved. The limp remained, unfortunately, but on the other hand she figured that would disappear in time as well.

John watched Molly cautiously and nervously. He didn't want to be leading the poor girl on. He fancied she was a sweet, pretty girl. The turn of event over the last day or so had given him a lot to consider. The kiss in 221B had been enjoyable though, he could not deny that. Perhaps he wasn't Sherlock-sexual. Perhaps he was bisexual? No, that would imply that he liked men as well. There was only one man that made his body react as it did and that was indeed Sherlock. He hoped they could have an enjoyable time together, without too much consequence.

Dinner was pleasant. John had taken her to a nice place up near the river and they had enjoyed speaking of old cases, old habits, Mrs. Hudson, Molly's line of work, John's patients, and, of course, Sherlock. The topic was virtually unavoidable. They both found that they rather enjoyed ranting about the late Sherlock Holmes. Molly was impressed that John could now laugh about his old friend instead of tearing up at the mention of him. Progress, thank gods, Molly smiled. This will make it easier when I tell Sherlock. Sherlock will now be able to concentrate on the tasks at hand instead of worrying about his friend. He will be delighted I'm almost sure of it.

The ride back to Molly's flat was somewhat quiet, conversation spent during their meal. They rode back perfectly content to sit in silence and watch the scenery go by. A nagging thought began to eat away at John. She's in love with him. I've got to get her mind off of him. How do you do that with the man living in her flat? And already bedded by him? Damn you, Sherlock. John scoffed at his friend in his head. Why do you have to go and make things so bloody difficult. He supposed a little lying was in order. This would probably ruin their decent night, but John had to play the part as he had promised Sherlock.

"You know, Sherlock was always such a bastard to you, Molly. I know you had to have seen it." John started. Molly turned and looked at him with a somewhat surprised look upon her face. John blushed. He hated turning the conversation to one of negativity. "He always spoke to you like you worked for him. Commanded you about that lab like he owned you." Molly said nothing, but looked down at her high heeled feet in contemplation.

"That was Sherlock though." Molly stated and smiled slightly. "Part of his charm I suppose." She patted his hand. John took hold of it.

"Charm? Really, Molly. He spoke of how thin and small your mouth was, how you lacked in the feminine department..." John hated this. He was truly embarrassed. "Better off you didn't pursue him further before everything happened. He would have hurt you alive and hurt you even more after he fell." John gave her a close lipped smile as if to comfort her. What the devil is this? Molly felt a little bit of anger well up inside of her. Sherlock had always treated her unfairly and poorly without probably even realizing it. Up until he realized that he was going to have to die to protect his friends. Moriarty hadn't even considered her important enough to target due to Sherlock's treatment of her!

"He was a very abrasive man." Was all Molly could managed at the moment. She feared she might let slip something that would reveal to John that Sherlock was alive and she couldn't have that. She couldn't help the little twinge of hurt and anger that had been sparked by John's conversation.

"Well, Molly. You're a very beautiful girl and think you're lacking in nothing." John took hold of her hand for emphasis and smiled at her. She returned it. "I apologize for him."

"No need. Sherlock could be a right prick most of the time." Molly answered and they both laughed. The cab pulled up in front of Molly's flat and they exited, coming to stand on the doorstep. "I had a wonderful evening, John. Thank you." Molly whispered. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, exactly as they had whenever Sherlock had whispered to him not long before.

"My pleasure, Molly Hooper." John nodded to her and lightly kissed the top of her hand as he brought it to his lips. A wicked idea was blooming in Molly's brain in response to John's reopening of old wounds. She had known that Sherlock was not interested in her romantically, although she had allowed herself to be swept away in the heat of the moment by him. Twice.

John turned to leave, but Molly held tight to his hand and gave it a squeeze. He turned back towards her, a bit confused. "No goodnight kiss?" John stopped, Molly almost able to follow the thought process there. He grinned, stepping back up on the step to face her. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly upon her lipsticked lips, and Molly slipped fingers up behind his neck and held him longer for a kiss. What's going on?! John was near panic in his mind. I was almost off scott free...does she really fancy me? This is worse than I thought... Molly of course could not sense this inner monologue but watched him intently once she broke the kiss. Her wicked idea was full grown now. "You know, John. There were so many rumors and I just have to ask." She sighed, as if it was hard for her to say what came next. "Were you and Sherlock a couple?"

John blanched. Molly almost didn't suppress the laugh that followed. "I'm actually not gay." Was all he could stutter out from his surprise.

"I was only curious, John." She rubbed his hand with her thumb. This is really wicked, Molly. She ignored her own inner conscience. Sherlock had treated her somewhat badly before everything had happened. Perhaps it was time for a little payback. "I mean, you certainly acted like a married couple. He seemed to exert a certain control over you. Or perhaps you're just a really good friend." The wine she had had at dinner was taking control she feared but it was already out. No turning back now.

John could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Had it been that obvious? He remembered making comments here and there, mainly to tease Sherlock. Coming from Molly though...had it been more clear to those around them? John's temper flared. He had seemed somewhat controlling and it seemed to emasculate him to others. He was embarrassed and angry. Okay, Sherlock. John leaned forward, taking hold of Molly's soft face in both of his hands and kissed her firmly, passionately. Molly did not shy away. Here's a little payback, Sherlock. Let's see how you like this.

Not long after, John and Molly found themselves in her flat, much as they had been not too many nights before in 221B. Knocking over books, furniture, the like with their intense makeout session. Molly held nothing back, leading John to her bedroom. If Sherlock knows what's good for him and his agenda he won't show himself, Molly thought. If Sherlock really wants a show, he'll put a stop to this. Or perhaps he won't. John didn't really care much either way at this point. He was already growing hard at the intense emotion they were displaying. Or was it the fact that Sherlock may be listening, or better yet, watching?

Molly didn't even bother to close the bedroom door. She really was feeling courageous. She shoved John down on his back on her bed, his shirt already torn off and laying in the living room somewhere. She removed all but her black and purple lace bra. She fancied wearing lingerie on occasion. Just to feel a little better about herself or just in case. You never knew when Sherlock was going to jump on your nowadays. "I don't believe these are lacking, are they, John?" She allowed him to run his hands over her breasts. John couldn't help himself. He was male. His erection became prominent and Molly smiled wickedly to herself. He took the next step and removed her jeans to reveal a matching set of panties. Oh, you're a bad man, John Watson. He was practically purring now, but not exactly from his hands on Molly's curves. He was imagining Sherlock watching from the open bedroom door, in awe. John, why are you taking it this far? You just needed to convince her otherwise! No need to take her... John smiled. Molly noted this but figured it was pleasure, so she kissed him and slipped her hand inside his jeans to take hold of him.

Sherlock was in fact watching. He had heard the door to the flat bang open, half expecting Molly to be flinging herself in the door in a rage. He waited patiently for a second voice. He heard something but it was not what he expected. He had peeked out momentarily to note John and Molly locked in a heated kiss as they made their way through the flat and into her bedroom. He was shocked. He expected John to play the part a bit, but this was really laying it on thick, was it not? He couldn't help himself. He had to see. And Molly had left her bedroom door wide open...on purpose? He doubted it. She wouldn't want John to risk a glimpse of him...

He watched as they undressed each other almost hungrily and John flipped Molly over onto her back on the mattress and dove into her greedily. Molly had cried out at the feeling and Sherlock had only then felt a twinge of jealousy within him. Jealousy geared towards the fact that John, in all of his naked gloriousness was making love to her and not to him. Wait, making love? Sherlock was feeling a bit awkward and vulnerable. He supposed it would be possible with John...He shook the thought out of his head as he felt his own surge of heat in his lowest parts. He watched with growing fascination as the two ended their tryst in loud unison. He quickly disappeared back into his bedroom to hash things out within his own mind. He couldn't blame John. He had reacted the same way with Molly. Perhaps he was confused and fighting his feelings for Sherlock? He hoped not.

John dressed hurriedly. He felt amazingly relaxed, but at the same time he felt a bit of regret as he watched Molly apply her bathrobe and hand him his shirt. He regretted the act only for taking advantage of Molly, but also because Sherlock, who was expressing feelings for him that were unheard of before, had probably heard and even more possibly viewed their act. Was Sherlock a voyeur? John figured he would find out about that soon enough.

Molly felt no regret. She had been, for lack of a better word, 'used' for the same reasons. She felt justified in her act, that she was not just for Sherlock's emotional outbursts but for her own personal attack.

"Thanks again, John." Molly showed John out, and he placed one last kiss upon her lips before he nodded to her and hailed his cab. She collapsed against the door when she shut it. She half expected Sherlock to emerge from his bedroom and berate her. Instead he sauntered out with her laptop and the phone and sat in the armchair to begin his work once again. He looked contemplative.

In all honesty, he was trying to calm himself from the erotica he had just been privy too. The laptop hid him well as it sat on his lap. He would definitely speak to John on this in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

John entered 221B with takeout in hand. He was feeling a little bit giddy, having company this night and all. He knocked on Mrs. Hudson's flat door and handed her her portion when she opened up. "Oh! You're such a sweet dear. Would you like me to join you?" She gave him a small thankful hug.

"Not tonight, Mrs. Hudson. I feel like being on my own tonight if that's okay with you." He smiled an I'm okay smile back to her and she nodded.

"That's fine, dear. Thank you again! My shows are on telly so I'll just have dinner in the living room. Live dangerously." She giggled and waved a small bye before closing the door. John turned heel and hurried up the stairs to the flat without missing a beat. He wondered how long it would take for Sherlock to arrive. He was usually punctual, but John had been a little late getting in.

He reached the top of the stairs and glanced back to see if there was anyone within earshot. "Sherlock?" He called a bit louder than he normally would have dared. No answer. Probably not here yet. John sauntered into the kitchen and began to set up food on trays. Two trays. I never thought I'd be setting up for company again. John smiled to himself. He couldn't help but be pleased. He was once again a happy man.

"Chinese?" A deep sultry voice asked from the bedroom. John jumped, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Sorry, just got in." Sherlock came into the kitchen, whipping off his scarf in the process. He looked sullen, John noticed. Perhaps he was just in a mood? It couldn't be easy creeping around London with everyone thinking you're dead. It would be enough to dampen my mood.

"Yes. The place down the street that we frequent often. Or used to." John caught himself, and shook it from his head. Soon enough Sherlock would be able to be out and about again. Not everything was going to have to be presented in past tense.

"Brilliant." Sherlock was hanging his coat up behind the door. He was wearing the purple shirt again, the one John thought suited him so well. Purple shirt of sex. John scoffed at himself inside his head. Where did that come from?! He gathered the trays and headed in to the desk in their living room, situating them across from each other. Sherlock stood at his usual spot, glancing out the window down at Bakerstreet. Speedy's cafe lights illuminated his sharp features beautifully, John noted. How often had he stood this way when things were as they were? John had never noticed. Of course, he hadn't taken the liberty to noticing many of the things he now saw at the time.

John cleared his throat, getting Sherlock's attention that dinner was served. They sat and ate in silence. John watched Sherlock intently, wanting to know what was bothering him but not knowing how to broach the subject. He had a good idea he knew what the problem was, and was embarrassed to ask. "So. What's bugging you then?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock had gathered a paper and was purusing the contents as he chewed. He lowered it slightly. John was giving him a look. He raised the paper. "Really, John. Are we going to try and converse while we are eating? Rather rude table manners."

John snatched the paper from Sherlock's hands and stared at him. "Okay. What is it? We've gone through too many things in the past few days for you to revert back to your usual sulky self. What's going on?"

Sherlock hardened his expression, crossing his arms childishly in front of him and leaning back in the chair. Silent treatment. John leaned back as well. Okay, Sherlock.

"This is about Saturday night." John smirked. He felt himself start to flush, remembering the events of that evening. An evening that would have turned out rather uneventful if it hadn't been for him and Molly agging each other on to one up on Sherlock. He felt a twist in his chest, one of guilt. He noted the look in Sherlock's eyes.

"What about Saturday night?" Sherlock was reaching for another paper. John stood up and slammed a hand down on the papers, pulling them from Sherlock's reach. Sherlock sat back once again, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"About me and Molly. I know you heard or possibly even saw what happened..." John started, his voice failing him. It was hard to bring it up. Why had he been so bullheaded and done the deed with Molly knowing Sherlock would know? He felt foolish.

"John. I told you to convince her otherwise and I believe you did so. She hasn't so much as made a pass at me since. I'm grateful." Sherlock was getting cocky, which was more like himself. There was something in his eyes though that John didn't like. A sadness, an unsurity that was unlike him. John had perhaps glanced it from time to time when he thought John or Lestrade had doubted him. There was always a brief flash before the arrogance and anger kicked in.

"Sherlock." John leaned on the desk, looking his beloved friend straight in the eye. "I don't truly know what possessed me. I think that Molly was trying to come back at me for bringing up sore subjects, such as how you used to treat her." Sherlock winced noticeably and John felt that pang again in his heart. "She got under my skin with talk of you controlling me and how people always viewed us as a couple."

"I didn't know it bothered you that people probably talked." Sherlock stood, knocking his chair back. Probably for dramatic effect, John noted. "When Moriarty was on trial and people were talking about how I was possibly a fake...you would always get visibly upset. I never understood why. Perhaps I still don't considering the way you're acting." Here it was. Sherlock's feelings were indeed hurt. John had succeeded. What an ass I am.

"I'll be honest, Sherlock. I was in denial I suppose. This entire situation has opened my eyes. Your feelings for me, they are mutual. I've just been a bit confused is all. After Saturday night, I would never deliberately do that to hurt you again." John felt lower than the lowest. He had acted rash.

"At least you gave Molly something to compare to." Sherlock huffed. John wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"Sorry, what? I'm sure she has had someone to compare the both of us to, Sherlock." John cocked his head. Sherlock said nothing. Realization struck, and John's eyes widened. "You didn't." Sherlock remained silent. "Molly was a virgin?! You deflowered the poor girl in a moment of uncontrolled vulnerability?!" John threw his hands up in the air. He felt even worse now. Molly had never had a relation until the two of them. The poor girl.

"She'll be fine. She'll have plenty to go on now." Sherlock was glancing through more papers. Distractions. He was uncomfortable in this conversation, but John was not going to allow him to escape this one. Even with hurt feelings that were John's doing, he had still come to 221B for the evening to see John. This was fixable. John hoped it was anyway.

"Look, this isn't really about Molly. This is about me doing something stupid at your request and taking it too far and I'm sorry. I'm apologizing, Sherlock." John was raising his voice. He caught himself and glanced at the stairwell, hoping Mrs. Hudson had her telly turned up so as to avoid hearing the racket he was causing. "I love you, I want to continue to see where this takes us, and I'm sorry." He was huffing and puffing with adrenaline, guilt, and anger at himself now.

Sherlock looked on at him a moment longer, no reaction upon his face. The flash of pain and doubt still shown in his eyes, and John wondered if he'd be able to take that away. He stepped forward until he was directly a touch away from John. He leaned forward slightly and placed a soft kiss upon John's forehead. John closed his eyes in relief. "Forgiven." John tipped his head upwards and kissed Sherlock softly, testing the boundaries. Sherlock didn't pull away. He joined in, but was not as hungry and ravenous as he had been previous times. "Shower?" His eyes questioned John's.

"Yes." John turned, heading down to the small flat bathroom and started the shower. He turned to call Sherlock, but found the slender man right behind him in the room, closing and locking the door behind him. As if the mood had shifted, Sherlock's fingers were running through John's hair and pulling him in for more kisses. John complied happily. His heart swelled. Makeup sex? John blushed. How far would this go? More touching and loving? He was extremely nervous but the excitement was overwhelming any other doubt he had in his mind.

John removed Sherlock's jacket and purple shirt (of sex, John thought with a grin) and hung them on the back of the door before pulling off his own jumper. They touched, feeling and loving the velvet of skin on skin. Sherlock ran his fingers over the white jaggedness of the bullet wound in John's left shoulder and John flinched. Sherlock stopped, apology in his eyes. "I'm just touchy about it. Sorry." John answered, finishing with another kiss.

Sherlock worked on John's jeans, feeling the excitement was already fully commencing within the confinement of the material. John responded with a few firm strokes to Sherlock's lower regions, where he was returning the feeling with gusto. They worked themselves feverishly into a frenzy, pants and underwear off within seconds, bodies under steamy hot water not long after. The feeling of the water running over their bodies as they embraced was exquisite. John caught glimpses here and there of the looks of pleasure Sherlock was expressing. He grabbed the shampoo and soaped them up, hands kneeding hair, soaping and washing every intimate area.

John took advantage of the slippery wetness to caress Sherlock's member as he kissed him. Sherlock moaned at the sensation and John continued, loving the look of ecstasy in his lover's face as he did so. Sherlock was so into it he had to steady himself with his hands on either side of the shower as John worked him. John whispered to him as he placed kisses along Sherlock's jawline and under his ear, sending tingles throughout Sherlock's body. "Never again, Sherlock. I will never hurt you like that again. I only want you." John could not help his outpouring of emotion. He could only imagine. Sherlock had chosen him of all people to be this close to, perhaps not by choice but by experience. They had come to trust each other explicitly, and John felt that he had betrayed that connection with his previous actions.

John felt Sherlock's body tense, at first curious as to if it was his profession of love or from the intensified sexual atmosphere. John concluded it was the latter, as Sherlock grabbed his shoulder with a "John, I- I'm-" and a cry as he released himself. John smiled. Only then Sherlock opened his eyes, searching John's, piercing his very soul. He suddenly drew John to him and embraced him, holding him close to his wet lathered body. John returned the embrace. The two remained in this way for several minutes before Sherlock released him, showered off, and stepped out, wrapping a nearby towel around him as he did so.

John provided him with one of his old dressing gowns and a bathrobe for himself after he had toweled off. The two resumed their places at the table, deciding for dessert after, well, dessert. Sherlock seemed more relaxed now, much to John's relief. "So. You going to tell me how we're going to resurrect you?" John finished his cake and wiped his mouth.

"Moriarty's phone. I scanned over the contents of the SD card you returned to me and have found a list of contacts and meeting places and times. All encrypted of course. I figure we start at the top of the list and work our way down." Sherlock was back on the case. John felt another heart tidalwave.

"It really would be easier to involve Lestrade on this, you know. Connections." John added. Sherlock eyed him reluctantly. "What? Not the bloody whole of Scotland Yard. Just Lestrade. He wouldn't tell a soul." John spoke with his hands. Sherlock shook his head.

"No. I did what I did so that I may save you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson from demise. I will not endanger anyone else if I have to." Sherlock sighed. "I've already put you in danger once more by you knowing I'm alive."

"Molly knows. Isn't she in danger too?" John questioned. Sherlock contemplated.

'No. Moriarty didn't consider her as a close friend due to our rocky friendship and my previous forthcomings about her. It was in one way that my 'treatment' of her, as you say, ensured her safety." Sherlock rattled off. John couldn't argue with that. He only hoped Sherlock had explained that to Molly so as not to further damage her.

"We could always tell Mycroft." John started by cut himself off as soon as he noted Sherlock's despise. "Or not. I mean, he has connections too and he is a bit more discrete." John shrugged.

"Noted. Last resort." Sherlock stated and folded his hands underneath his chin once more.

"What's to say these people are still watching anyway, Sherlock?"

"Moriarty would have wanted to ensure that I did not fake my death. We are a lot alike in many ways, whether I want to admit it or not." Sherlock's eyes were bright, his genius mind at work. A queer shadow caught his eye. "John!" He only had enough time to yell his name before an audible hiss cut through the air. John sat in his chair, a look of confusion spreading across his face. He raised his hand to his neck and pulled out the blow dart that had embedded itself. His eyesight swam, his speech slurred, and he toppled to the floor.

Sherlock jumped up, running to the window. A shadow clambered up the fire escape to the roof. Sherlock, dressed only in the dressing gown post shower, lunged out the window to the fire escape to chase the attacker. His mind blazed with fear, loathing, and determination as John lay unconscious on the floor of 221B Bakerstreet.


	15. Chapter 15

John paid the cabby as he stepped out of the car and into the London street in front of 221B Bakerstreet. He noted the business of Speedy's Cafe, but couldn't really concentrate. The last half a day he had spent waking up in St. Bartholomew's hospital emergency room had been a blur. He hadn't known how he'd gotten there. Apparently Mrs. Hudson hadn't even been aware that he had even left the flat when he phoned her. What's the last thing that happened? We were at the desk finishing dessert and... John couldn't remember anything further. What had happened to Sherlock? He couldn't very well go around the ER asking if they'd seen him or if he'd been brought in as well, or they'd given him a one way ticket straight up to the mental health floor.

John stumbled through the door and was met by a very concerned Mrs. Hudson. "What happened, dear?" She looked him over as a concerned mother would look over their child.

"I don't really know, Mrs. Hudson. I think I was feeling ill and blacked out while I was at Scotland Yard." John lied. "They had me taken in. I was confused when I called you. I didn't mean for you to worry." He started towards the stairs.

"Let me help you, dear." Mrs. Hudson put her protective arms about him and helped him up the stairs. He only hoped that Sherlock was either well hid away or gone. I don't want him gone... John reached the top of the stairs and fell into the couch. Mrs. Hudson bustled over into the kitchen to get him something to drink. She returned and hovered.

"Really, Mrs. Hudson, I'm fine now. Clean bill of health. I'm just going to take a nap then I'll be right as rain." John lied again. He wanted desperately to investigate where his time had gone. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and waved a hand dismissively at him.

"It'll do you good, dear. You yell if you need me." She kissed him lightly on his forehead and popped out the door and down the stairs. Like that's ever worked for Sherlock. John sat up as soon as he heard her door shut. Sherlock, what the bloody hell happened?

John wandered around the window and the desk, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Their dishes were still out and dirty from their meal. He knelt to the floor, as his chair was still toppled. He looked about, searching for any clue and found one. A blow dart stuck deeply into the door jam of the kitchen. He wandered over to it and pulled it from the wood, careful not to touch the tip. Had he been poisoned? He faintly remembered Sherlock yelling his name before the blackness took over. Had he been shot too? His foot kicked a light metal object on the floor and he knelt to retrieve yet an identical blow dart. This must have been the one in my neck. John rolled it in his hands quizzically.

A sudden scrapping thump on the ceiling above startled John. He grabbed his gun, ever close to his side and held it in front of him expertly as he mounted the stairs shakily. He was still woozy from whatever had been on the dart. He should be lucky to be alive he figured. Sherlock must have phoned the police or the paramedics for me. John rounded the top of the stairs to his bedroom and kicked the door open slightly. The window was open. Was someone in the room? He approached the bed slowly, and only then noticed the blood smeared across the window frame and the body that lay below it. Only after he had gotten closer and noticed the dark curls did John's heart break and his stomach explode into his throat. "Sherlock!" He yelled louder than he probably should have and dropped the gun to join him upon the floor.

John rolled him slowly over onto his back and Sherlock winced. John stared at the blood, so much blood, oh gods...and he gathered Sherlock up into his arms and held him close. "Sherlock..." John was at a loss for words. His friend was truly dead this time. There was no coming back from this. He nuzzled his face into Sherlock's neck and sobbed, rocking slowly back and forth.

"Hnnngh..." Sherlock moaned in a voice barely audible. "John?" John could not decide to look and see if the voice was real or if he was just hopeful and imagining things. "I'm fine, John. I'm not dead." He allowed himself to view Sherlock's face and found a tired and pale man smirking back at him.

"If this is some kind of joke you sick bastard-" John stopped himself. Sherlock laughed weakly.

"I'm not dead..." His voice trailed off but his eyes were open and growing brighter. "Let's have dinner." He smirked and winced as John adjusted under the weight that was his slender frame.

"Good one." John smiled. "What in the bloody hell happened, Sherlock? I woke up in the fucking hospital for gods sake." John still cradled his lover in his arms but was now searching for a source of bleeding. Sherlock was reaching up towards his left side with his arm but not making very good progress.

"Moriarty's henchman." Sherlock coughed. No blood coming up, that's good. John carefully moved Sherlock's jacket and found a bullet wound within his side. By the looks of it it was deep, but fixable. Hopefully it had missed vital organs. More than a grazing but perhaps not fatal. No, John. NOT fatal. You're a fucking army doctor. You've seen and fixed worse. "Tried to poison us to kidnap us I'm sure. The poison wasn't enough to kill but I couldn't take chances. So I called the medics." He was trying to sit up now. John wouldn't allow it, and firmly held him stationary as he examined him further.

"So, if I got shot by the blow dart, and the other missed you..." John quizzed. "How the hell did you get shot?" If I could get him into the bathtub and extract the bullet this could be a quick stitch. John began to contemplate how to move the tall man from his position on the bedroom floor down the stairs and into the bathtub. He didn't dare allow Sherlock to stand.

"I followed him up onto the roof and he shot me. Stupid mistake on my part. Should have expected he'd retaliate being followed..." Sherlock was starting to look woozy.

"Okay, okay. Here's what we need to do Sherlock. You can't stand, you're too weak and you've lost a lot of blood. I've got to get you to the bathroom because this bullet has to come out." John glanced towards the door. I can do this.

"You can't carry me, John." Sherlock laughed again, perhaps he was becoming delirious from blood loss or pain, John couldn't guess which.

"I can and I bloody will, Sherlock. Arms about my neck." Sherlock was growing limp in his arms. Now or never, Dr. Watson. "Arms about my neck this instant, Sherlock!" He shook him slightly to rouse him. Sherlock complied and wrapped his limber arms about John's neck as John gathered him tightly to his chest. With all of the strength and additional adrenaline pumping through his body he was able to lift his friend from the floor, to the bed, to the air. He tried his best to rush across the room and carefully down the stairs. It took everything John had in him to make that trip without causing Sherlock anymore harm. His arms were beginning to feel weak from the strain, and his old war wound in the shoulder wasn't making anything easier. John managed and lowered Sherlock slowly into the bathtub. "You're going to have to sit up for a moment, Sherlock."

Sherlock complied and sat up warily. John quickly and carefully removed the jacket, much to Sherlock's grimacing and guarding, and ripped his shirt off with buttons flying. "Hmm..." Sherlock smiled. Shame thinking such a thing when you're in this position, Sherlock. John couldn't help but grin though. Finally he was able to view the full extent of the damage. The bullet was hardly visible, wedging itself deep in Sherlock's left side. Blood was pooling out around it, but John didn't think it had nicked anything vital. He made a mental checklist and began gathering things while Sherlock laid back in the tub. He returned with hydrogen peroxide, a bottle of liquor, towels and wash cloths, scissors, needle and thread, and a long pair of tongs from his own personal medical kit. Sherlock was beginning to come around again. At the least opportune time. It would be so much better if he was out.

"Sherlock, this is going to hurt. A lot." John sighed and took a swig from the liquor bottle before offering it to his friend. "Drink up. It'll make it better." He put the bottle to Sherlock's lips and gave him a large drink as well, Sherlock grimacing at the aftertaste. John immediately poured the contents upon the open wound and Sherlock came up out of the bathtub with a yell. John took hold of him and laid him back down. The pain seemed to have sobered and awakened him.

"Bloody hell." Sherlock panted. He glanced down as John cleaned about the wound with a washcloth. "This is going to fucking hurt isn't it."

"Yes." John was reading his instruments and laying them out of a towel. "So suck it up and give me one shot at this and I shouldn't have to dig too much." Sherlock watched John's face intently as he prepared, with much love and admiration. John only paused when he was ready to begin. They looked at each other for a long time. "Just be glad you got stuck with the army doctor." John gave him an encouraging smile. Sherlock returned it and leaned forward to plant an intimate kiss on John's lips.

"I trust you." Sherlock leaned back and rested his head upon the tile of the bathtub wall. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Just get it done."

John wasted no time. He grabbed his tongs and inserted them into the open ragged hole in Sherlock's side. Sherlock made wounded noises between grinding teeth but barely flinched. What willpower. John thought as he grasped ahold of the bullet and pulled it cleanly from the wound. Sherlock yelped as he did so and then relaxed against the tub. He was breathing erratically but unmoving as to allow John to work on him. John set to work cleansing the wound and stitching him back together the best he could. Within 20 minutes Sherlock was stitched up and clean.

"That was tedious." Sherlock panted as he glanced at John's handiwork. "Brilliant work though, Dr. Watson." Sherlock tried a smile, but was obviously weak.

"We need to get you into bed now so you can rest." John remained concerned. He is going to need a blood transfusion. He's lost too much. Sherlock leaned forward with a painful wince and would not allow John to steady him. He stood, much with John's help and stepped out of the tub. "Come on, to the bedroom." John walked and supported him to his old bedroom and laid upon it, allowing John to undress him with grace and gentleness and redress him in his boxer briefs and cover him with a blanket. Sherlock caught him by the wrist as he busied himself getting his lover comfortable. He pulled him down close with surprising strength despite the situation.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock smiled, his eyes finding John's. John kissed him sweetly. "So, just need to rest up now, eh?" He adjusted himself with some difficulty.

"No, Sherlock. You've got to have antibiotics to prevent infection." John sighed. "I fear you need a blood transfusion as well."

"That shouldn't be a problem though. You're a doctor. You work at a clinic." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"The antibiotics are a breeze, Sherlock. Its the blood we're going to have a problem with. I don't have access at the clinic." John rubbed his chin in contemplation.

"I know what you're thinking, and I don't think it's right." Sherlock's humor was gone. John had been read like a book once again.

"She's the only one who has access, Sherlock. And I'm not going to allow you to die for real. Stubborn bastard." John reached for his phone. Sherlock pouted, but no longer argued. It was going to come down to this sooner or later.

On the other side of London, sitting in her armchair after a long day of work and wondering where the hell Sherlock had snuck off to, Molly was sipping her tea in confusion and concern. Her phone rang. John. Do I really want to follow up Saturday night with some awkward conversation? Molly sighed and answered. "Hello, John! How are you?" She tried to sound chipper but feared it was fake.

"Hello, Molly. I've got a favor to ask." John began. Molly's face drained as she listened intently.


	16. Chapter 16

Molly nearly flew out of the cab as it arrived at 221B Bakerstreet, tossing the cabby his fare as she did so. She gathered her large bag close to her as she nearly bumped into a pedestrian coming out of Speedy's Cafe. "Sorry! Sorry." She mumbled nervously and found the door to 221B to be open. She slammed the door shut behind her and raced up the stairs 2 at a time. "John?!" She yelled into the flat as she reached the top, breathless.

"In here!" She heard John answer from the back bedroom. Sherlock's bedroom. She followed the voice and came around the doorframe pale and shaking. Sherlock lay on the bed, blanched but retaining some pink in his cheeks. He was shirtless, a large bandage wrapped expertly about his torso as John tended to him. John sprung up off the bed and took the bag from her. She let him, eyes on Sherlock. John took hold of her arm. "Molly, help me with this." Molly met his stare and nodded, following him into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Molly could barely speak. She was in shock from the entire situation. It wasn't the night before Sherlock had been working on some experiment in her kitchen and going on about how tailing Lestrade was excruciatingly frustrating and now...Now he's laying wounded in his old bedroom.

John was pulling the bags of blood from Molly's bag and icing down a few. "Did you manage to grab an IV starter kit as well? I looked but I don't have one in my bag." John was expertly assembling the blood with the tubing to be infused. Molly dug into the bag and produced it. "Good girl."

"Does Mrs. Hudson know, John?" Molly asked again in her faraway voice. John shook his head no.

"No. She's out at a bridge game with her friends in Cardiff. Doubt she'll be back home tonight." John carried the blood into the bedroom and Molly followed. John rounded the bed and hung the blood up onto a nail he had nailed into the wall for this occasion. He then took hold of Sherlock's arm and applied the tourniquet, looking for a suitable vein. Sherlock roused, his tired eyes falling on Molly as she stood on the other side of the bed.

"Sherlock..." Molly's voice was full of worry and relief at the same time, a peculiar mixture. Sherlock managed an eye roll. At least he's acting like his old self. Molly smirked. Sherlock returned it.

"So good of you to bring your work home with you, Molly." Sherlock laughed, a deep cheerful sound. Molly's heart sang at the sound of it. Despite all they had been through, she still cherished the sound of happy Sherlock. John was rubbing a spot on his arm. He glanced over. "Well, go on then if you're going to, John. Not like I've never been stuck with a sharp object before."

John took this moment to jab the IV needle in a little harder than he needed to and Sherlock yelped through another gritted grimace. "Bloody, stubborn bastard." John muttered under his breath as he set to securing the IV site and calculating drip rate. Molly suppressed a laugh. Ever the same, the both of them. "You didn't have any problems did you, Molly?" John glanced at her when his work was complete.

"No, no. Beatrice owed me a favor. Plus, I'm always running errands about the hospital here and there. They kind of just get handed to me. This didn't seem any different to anyone else." Molly's voice was soft as she looked away in thought for a moment.

"Ah," John's eyes were filled with a sadness for Molly. A wonderful, smart person. Walked all over by none other than Sherlock Holmes as well as other St. Bartholomew's employees it would seem. Taken advantage of by everyone...including me. John felt a twinge of guilt once more. "Much appreciated, Molly. Thank you."

"Anything for a friend." Molly glanced up at Sherlock once more, although the smile was gone and the frown replaced it. Sherlock glimpsed it, and he felt that feeling of regret seeping in again. "Well, I suppose I might as well stay the night." John glanced at her as he stood from his seat on the bed. "You're going to need help monitoring him to make sure there's no reaction to the infusion or any spike in temp from an infection. You've given him the antibiotics?" John nodded and Molly gave her shy smile. "Okay. Think I fancy some tea if you boys don't mind." And with that Molly was gone from the room.

Sherlock sighed. John frowned at him. "What?" Sherlock wiggled his IV cathed arm childishly and motioned towards the doorway, meaning Molly John guessed. "The girl helped you fake your death, took you into her flat, satiated your emotional outbursts, and now stole blood from the hospital so that you wouldn't die of anemia, Sherlock. Be a little more respectful."

"I am capable of feeling, John. Despite what you might think." Sherlock hadn't meant this in the way John took it, but once he realized the double entandre he smirked devilishly. "I do feel a twinge of sadness for her. I should not treat her as I do, but this is just another wrench in the machinery."

"What do you mean?" John crossed his arms about his chest once more, intent on hearing what Sherlock could possibly mean. Feelings? Love, lust, desire...I know you're capable of these, Sherlock. Guilt? Regret? Sadness? I'm not so sure.

"When you discovered me, I only had to worry about you. You've already been attacked, as have I. Now that she is in this apartment in cahoots with the two of us, she'll be added to the hit list as well. That's an extra person to worry about while I'm laying in this damned bed like one of your patients." Sherlock was bored already. Bored! Not surprising. Good point though.

"Well, she is staying the night. Not like we'll have to worry about protecting her outside the flat." John rounded the bed and watched Molly move gracefully about the kitchen making tea. "I've got my gun. I don't really have a limp, but they don't know that yet."

"Duelly noted. If things get too out of hand, we'll have to phone Lestrade." Sherlock sighed. John was shocked.

"Mycroft-"

"Is a last resort."

"Alright, alright." John bent over and laid a kiss upon Sherlock's brow and went out to help Molly. Sherlock lay in the bed sulking. He attempted to adjust himself in the bed and winced at the pain in his side. This is bloody wonderful. I'm injured, John and Molly are both endangered. Whatever else could go wrong?

As if on cue, gunfire rang out in the living area of 221B Bakerstreet. Screams, both male and female erupted as glass shattered and bullets ricocheted about the flat. Sherlock sprang up out of the bed, ripping the IV from his arm and racing into the kitchen, adrenaline searing his veins from the inside out as he raced in panic at the noise. He first glanced John, hiding behind the armchair in the living room, gun in hand and virtually unharmed. Molly on the other hand was ducking and Sherlock threw himself on top of her to shield her.

Molly felt faint, as the noise and the shattering of dinnerware and glass and various items spliced through her ears. John had enough time to grab the gun before hiding and she knew nothing more than to drop to the floor. She was thrust violently to the ground as a body felt on top of her. She lay on the floor in shock, a pain in her head and her shoulder. Sherlock? She questioned. Sure enough it was him, his body shielding her, his breath, quick and hot against her neck. He nuzzled his face in her hair, whether from the smell of her or protecting his face from falling debris she wasn't sure. Molly, thinking of something naughty during an assassination attempt is unbecoming of you. She scolded herself.

What seemed like hours passed before the noise halted and someone could be heard moving about the apartment. "Sherlock!" John yelled and ran to them. Sherlock moved on top of her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Sherlock moaned as he moved. The adrenaline surge was subsiding now. Surely he was in a massive amount of pain. John was helping him move. An arm gripped her and turned her over. John stared down at her. Sherlock was leaning up against the fridge, chest heaving.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock was asking over and over. Molly was in shock, but able to answer with a nod. John helped her up and pushed her in the direction of the bedroom. She made her way on the floor into the room, and turned to see John helping a limping Sherlock back into the room and onto the bed. His bandage was soaking through with crimson.

"Oh my gods..." Molly sobbed. Sherlock glanced down.

"Just a scratch." Sherlock smartassedly replied. John nearly laughed. They were all delirious from the events, they had to be. John had unwrapped his bandages and was examining the wound.

"He's ripped his stitches. Nothing I can't fix." John glanced at him and grabbed Molly up off the floor. He looked her over. "You've been grazed twice. Once on the forehead, and once in the shoulder. Are you okay?" John asked. She nodded again. "Here, hold pressure." He took hold of her shaking hands and applied them to a washcloth across Sherlock's wound. She pressed hard and he hissed in pain. "Sherlock, you don't like it, but I'm calling Mycroft. We aren't safe here and Lestrade is going to be here any minute once that noise is called in." John disappeared into the bathroom to get his supplies and had phone in hand on the way.

Sherlock sighed defeatedly. He glanced up. Molly stared on at his torso, concentrating intently on her task, blood trickly down her blanched face and through her blouse on her right shoulder. He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. She never faltered. "Molly." No response. "Molly!" He snapped at her. She turned her far gone gaze slowly to him. Brave girl. You're okay." Sherlock attempted to comfort, not sure if it was having any impact. She would surely need some medical attention for the shock now that he thought about it. Mycroft was the only choice, as much as he hated it. He grasped her hand as she pressed firmly on him and simply held it. Perhaps the touch would comfort more than any words could.

Ten minutes later, John met Mycroft at the doorway to 221B Bakerstreet. He strolled into the bedroom and looked over his brother on the bloodstained bed with Molly leaning across him with her blank stare. "My gods, Dr. Watson. You were telling the truth. As I've said before, no one could possibly fool me like my own dear brother." Mycroft's face betrayed no emotion, no response to seeing his brother alive and well, if not injured. "I've brought along two cars, pack what you can carry and we'll get you to the safety of my estate." As if on cue, John began to gather things and Mycroft's black suited men entered to gather Sherlock.

"I can walk, thank you." Sherlock refused their help, but as he faltered as he stood, John was there to support him. Molly could not find the strength to tear herself away from Sherlock's wound, as it took a rather large suited man to gently pry her away. She took a few steps before she gave out and fainted. "Molly-" Sherlock started and groaned, taking hold of his still oozing wound.

"They've got her, Sherlock. We've got to get you down those stairs and to the car so I can restitch this." John was holding pressure to his wound now as well. In this fashion they made it to the black government cars speeding away from 221B before Lestrade's division could arrive to investigate.

"I've made all the necessary arrangements." Mycroft started, staring intently at his brother as he slumped against John in the opposite side of the car they rode in. "I've informed Mrs. Hudson of the vandalism to the flat, that you are okay, and that I will handle the necessary repairs. I also informed her that she should stay with her sister for a while as this is all sorted out." Mycroft glanced at Molly, still unmoving and held by the suited man who had managed to pry her away from Sherlock. "I've also arranged for the 3 of you to stay at my estate until this is sorted out. I'm sure Sherlock has a lot of explaining to do and could provide to me some insight?" Mycroft sneered. Bloody hell, couldn't he at least show that he's happy to see his brother alive? John thought harshly to himself. He could see why Sherlock had attached himself to him as he did. John was all he felt accepted by in this world. Well, besides Molly. John glanced at Molly as well and his heart went out to her. I shouldn't have called her...

"What about Lestrade?" Sherlock managed. He was becoming woozy, probably from the lack of blood.

"I've phoned him as well and notified him that John and Molly were attacked at the flat and were taken into protective custody." Mycroft smiled, as if he had done a great thing by not cluing in the Detective Inspector. "No worries, Sherlock, he still thinks you're pushing up daisies." Sherlock glared at him, but felt thankful it was one less person to worry about during this crisis. They rode in silence towards Mycroft's estate, weariness setting in.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock lay in a bed two sizes too big and adorned with the finest Egyptian silk sheeting. He grimaced at the feel, longing for the cotton sheets that suited him just fine at 221B Bakerstreet. The nurse on his left side was checking the infusion of blood into his arm and reinflating the automatic cuff on his right arm to check his blood pressure. He did not appreciate all of this unwanted attention. John was managing just fine with all of this at the flat. What a bloody fucking mess. Sherlock frowned.

"How are we feeling, little brother?" Mycroft entered the room with his usual swagger, leaning his umbrella up against the wall as he entered and removing his long coat. His tight lipped smiled adorned his rather worn looking face, but he was as antagonistic as he ever was as he came up to the foot of Sherlock's bed.

"Like death, brother dear." Sherlock mocked and scowled deeply. Mycroft scoffed at the mockery, but this was not an unusual back and forth between the two.

"Not much more is to be expected of one presumed to be dead, am I correct?" Mycroft answered. Sherlock looked off out through the darkened window at the rain as it pelted against the glass. The nurse fussed at his wound and he attempted to shoo her away to no avail. She said nothing but continued on in her busy work. "I am most surprised to see you alive. After the supposive fall you took from atop that hospital building I thought that the stress of your invented profession had finally caught up with you."

"Unfortunately for you, I put my genius to work once more. This brain is good for more than just brilliant deductions." Sherlock sneered. Where's John? Hell, where's Molly? Anyone but Mycroft. Precisely who I don't want in the middle of my business.

"You had a little help I imagine?" Mycroft questioned. Sherlock nodded. "Remembering back to John's blubbering I imagine it wasn't him. Lestrade was pretty torn up as well. The funeral was epic, Sherlock between the two of those men mourning you. Who else could have possibly have wanted to help you?" Mycroft thought for a moment before realization graced his face. "Why couldn't I have seen it before? Molly must have had a hand in this. The way she fauns after you is pathetically endearing. Her position in the hospital must have had some sway as well..."

"Yes, it was Molly. Congratulations on your deduction, Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft rounded the bed and dismissed the nurse himself. She scurried from the room quickly without a word, leaving the brothers to their discussion. Mycroft stood staring at his little brother for a moment longer before Sherlock sighed. "What, Mycroft? Have at it and go away. I need to rest if I'm going to recover or whatever it is your nurses and John keep telling me to do." He glanced off, avoiding Mycroft's searing gaze.

"I'm only going to say this once, Sherlock, so listen very carefully." Mycroft began, his voice softer, more serious, dismissive of mockery or contempt. Sherlock met his eyes, noting the change in his demeanor and how unbecoming it was of Mycroft to act this way. "When I heard the news that you had jumped off of that bloody building, I mourned. I mourned for you because despite our childish feuds and differences in opinion, I do care for you. You are my little brother. I've tried desperately to protect you growing up, and since John came along I haven't had to try as hard, but when I thought you were dead..." Mycroft looked away towards the window. Sherlock stared at him, mentally registering surprise but keeping the reaction from reaching his face. "I mourned you, Sherlock. I care for you deeply and I worry about you constantly. Try not to get yourself killed now that you've been resurrected." Mycroft ended his profession just as John entered the room.

"Mycroft, have you been letting your doctors tinker with my patient?" John asked heatedly as he closed the door behind him. Mycroft took a defensive step backwards, his face resuming its usual uncaring facade instantly. Sherlock noted and glanced towards his army doctor as he approached. "I won't have anyone treating him but the only person I trust." Mycroft's eyebrows raised in questioning surprise.

"Oh? Who would you prefer?" Mycroft asked in his usual prissy tone. Sherlock hated the sound of that voice. He found himself preferring the softer more serious Mycroft he had just been privy to, although he hadn't seen that facet of him in years.

"Myself, of course." John huffed and checked the vitals and the infusion tubing, his focus on Sherlock and not on Mycroft.

"Of course. Apologies. I was only offering the finest I had available to me. I'll send them away immediately." Mycroft glanced at Sherlock once more before exiting the room, taking his umbrella and coat as he did so. Sherlock looked after him for a moment, lost in thought and near admiration for his nemesis.

"That's not completely true." Sherlock noted to John as he tinkered with the medical equipment and pulled out his stethscope to listen to Sherlock. John glanced up at him questioningly. "You trust me, do you not?" Sherlock took hold of John's collar in his hand and pulled him in close, planting a loving kiss on John's lips. John nearly melted into Sherlock's softness but managed to end the kiss with a smile and give Sherlock a tsk tsk look as he continued his assessment. Sherlocked leaned back, arms behind his head as he watched John work. "You know, this could be something. Doctor and patient? I've never roleplayed before."

John's eyes met Sherlock's instantly, his cheeks blushing red at the thought. Surely there was an image of that playing out in John's mind at this instant. You're a wicked man, Sherlock. Sherlock thought to himself but only grinned. He couldn't help but admit that he was feeling better. Surely it was the blood transfusion and the antibiotics that were helping, but merely having John back with him he felt was just as much a contribution.

John busied himself once again, removing the bandage to Sherlock's side to view the stitching he had redone earlier. He had been shocked by Sherlock's revelation. Doctor and patient could definitely be a fun experience. He could only imagine Sherlock naked and willing to accept any order given to him by his "doctor". He blushed again, Sherlock smiling genuinely as he noticed but kept quiet. John did not know exactly how far physically he was willing to go with his new found lover. Quite frankly it scared him, the very thought, and yet at the same time it was excitingly arousing to imagine. John felt blood pooling to his lower groin as he daydreamed. Dammit, John! He's injured and you shouldn't be considering... But he was, and it was having a rather aphrodisiacal effect upon him.

Without realizing what he was doing he bent to lay a kiss close to the stitched area on Sherlock's lower left side. When he realized that the gasp was not one of pain, he continued to lay kisses around the area and down lower around Sherlock's cut line near to his thigh. "Gods, John..." Sherlock was breathing again but barely. John glanced up only long enough to note the pleasant mixture of surprise and pleasure on Sherlock's face. He had more color, he was most definitely looking more livelier. Oh, John. You're a bad man. John's eyes smiled before he sat onto the bed and slightly moved the sheet covering Sherlock's lower half to the side.

Sherlock was responding quite nicely to the attention he was receiving. John kissed along the waistband of his pajama bottoms and licked here and there about Sherlock's happy trail as it disappeared into his pants. Sherlock was nearly writhing now as he watched John's agonizing progression downwards. Despite the pain as his body tensed, the fire that had ignited deep within his belly was quenching any discomfort with ecstasy.

John passed a hand over Sherlock's groin, palming his erection and causing another gasp from Sherlock's parted lips as he did so. He hooked a finger into the waistband of the pants and pulled down in one smooth motion, allowing him to spring free. John took in Sherlock's girth, considering. This is okay, this is what lovers do. He had no idea how to proceed, so he let the moment take him.

Slowly and gingerly, John took Sherlock into his mouth. Sherlock moaned and tried his best not to thrust into John's mouth. It's his first time, I can't choke him...but gods it feels so damned good. The wetness and warmth along with John's exploring tongue were almost too much. The anticipation was sated, the fire building and tightening within his lower belly. John was definitely becoming more comfortable with this, as he took more and more of Sherlock into that wonderful mouth. It was becoming harder for Sherlock to control the reflex of his slender hips. John, sensing the difficulty, took hold of Sherlock with his free hand. "John..." Sherlock moaned with pleasure. John began to suck harder and work his tongue around, driving Sherlock insane with sensation.

Sherlock could hold it no longer, he was going to spill over the edge and did not know how John would react to..."John- John, I'm going to, oh gods-" Sherlock took hold of his head with his hands and pulled John away from him as he felt his orgasm about to shatter him. John graciously accepted this, and worked him with the hand that held him firmly until he came loudly across his hand and onto the bed. John watched Sherlock intently as he collapsed backwards on the pillows and soaked in the afterglow of his orgasm. John stood and Sherlock was barely aware for a few moments that he had disappeared into the adjoining bathroom to collect a washcloth and returned to clean up. When he had finished he returned to pull up the waistband of his pajama bottoms and rechecked the vitals.

"Just as I expected." John tapped the vital sign machine and Sherlock watched him, amused. "Blood pressure, respirations, and pulse are all very elevated. I'm going to have to monitor you closer, Mr. Holmes." John turned to him and laughed. Sherlock was overcome by such joy and love he felt for this man, that he took hold of him once more and kissed him deeply. John did not pull away.

"John?" A voice faintly floating up the stairs outside the closed bedroom door separated the two men from their reverie. John stood, his face flushed. Sherlock's was flushed as well, but not from embarrassment. Molly knocked lightly and entered the room to find the two. "There you are! Mycroft is requesting you come to the study and discuss some things with him. He's spoken to Lestrade." Molly glanced over at Sherlock and gave him her genuine Molly Hooper smile. He returned it awkwardly and John shook his head at him in an "act normal" gesture. "Oh gods!" Molly put a hand to her mouth. John turned to her, concerned. "Sherlock! Your blood pressure and pulse are outrageous!"

John reacted almost instantly, stuttering. "I've attended to it, Molly. I was checking his wound and caused him a great deal of pain as I did so. I'm going to need you to fetch me another pain pill, if you wouldn't mind." Molly nodded and quickly exited the room to gather what John requested. As soon as the door shut behind her, the two men burst out laughing, relieved and relishing a moment without worry or concern.


	18. Chapter 18

Molly brought the cup of tea and woke John up as he sat in the chair across the room where he had been keeping watching on Sherlock. They had been taking turns watching to make sure he had not adverse reaction to the blood transfusion and he had not. He was resting comfortably now, seemingly unaware of his two guardian angels in the room. "How's he doing?" She asked quietly as he readjusted in his seat and took a sip of the tea.

"Seems well. No temperature since he finished the transfusion. The wound's healing up nicely, I should be able to remove the stitches in a day or two." John sighed. They both watched Sherlock slumber for a moment. "He's extremely lucky, you know." Molly nodded. "Cheated death twice in the last few weeks." John laughed to himself.

"So..." Molly started. John took another long drink of tea, sensing the impending conversation and the many ways it could possibly go. "He'd been at the flat everytime he went out?" John considered his answer. When he had phoned Molly to get the blood he hadn't been extremely descriptive of the situation. He had rattled off something about Sherlock being in the flat, being shot, and needing blood and that had pretty much been the extent of it. He supposed he owed her some answers. If not her owing him some as well.

"Not everytime. He says he often followed Lestrade and on a few occasions he tailed Mrs. Hudson." He smiled again. Mrs. Hudson, the mother figure. It made him a little sad to know he was watching her just because he cared for her more than his own mother, John supposed.

"Okay..." Molly rubbed her arm nervously. "Look, John. We need to talk about Saturday night." John choked on his sip of tea and sat forward, placing the teacup and saucer on the table next to the chair. He stood and motioned for her to join him outside on the balcony. I'll be damned if I'm going to discuss that with him in the room, asleep or not. John opened the balcony door and followed her out. They both stopped to admire the twilight view of the moor beyond Mycroft's property fence. John took notice of the many guards that stood watch about the perimeter as well. He felt a sense of safety here and thanked goodness he had phoned Mycroft this soon.

"Look I shouldn't have led you on-" John started to explain, hoping to get everything out of the way. Molly held her hand up and silenced him.

"I knew Sherlock was there. I knew he wasn't out and about. He knew we were going out on a date. He saw us when I kissed you in the flat. I just wanted a little revenge." Molly stated bluntly. John was in shock. Sherlock saw us in the flat?! Was he sneaking around while I was wondering about in my underwear? John contemplated for half a second. Well, that's not all that surprising considering I caught him in the bedroom while I was in my underwear. Thoughts of that evening ignited a familiar sensation in his lower regions. That kiss... He stopped himself. An erection while having this particular conversation with Molly would make it twice as awkward. "He's always been so callous with me, whether he meant to be or not. I guess I just wanted to show him I was desirable. Even if he didn't think so."

John's heart went out to her in that moment. "Molly..." He didn't know where to start or how much she knew but he continued on. "I knew Sherlock was in your flat too." Molly's eyes widened. "Sherlock had come around 221B a few days before trying to find something I'd hidden from the phone and that's when I discovered he was alive. He told me everything."

"Wait, what? You knew that he was in the flat and you still-" Molly was mortified. Perhaps a little weirded out maybe as well. John could only wonder. "You knew he could have been listening or watching or who knows and we still-" Molly threw her hands up in the air. "You bastard!"

"Hey! How is this a bad thing that I did it? You knew he was there whether I did or not and you still wanted to-" John growled in exasperation. "Dammit, Molly, we can't even say what it was we did! We know what we did but-" John ran his hands through his hair nervously.

"Are you a voyeur?" Molly asked point blank out of nowhere. John's jaw literally fell open at the mention. "Did you want him to hear us? Does that do something for you? Is that they only way you could have-"

"Gods, no!" John sputtered out. They both averted their gaze and were silent for a moment. "Molly, you are a stunningly pretty woman, you truly are. Anything physically that happened was out of desire for you so don't think I-" John was blushing. Molly was too, but the beginnings of a smile played at the corners of her pink mouth. "I just, I don't know. I guess we were both trying to make a point. You did insult my sexuality, that kind of helped."

Molly laughed. "Insulted your sexuality?" She thought for a moment and shouted "Oh! When I said that Sherlock controlled you and people talked? I'm sorry, John. I guess my feelings were hurt because you were reminding me of all the things he's said to me over the past few years..." Molly's voice faded off into nothing. They stood together and looked about the breathtaking scenery.

"All of this being said, I should note that I want to remain friends. I don't want that messing anything up..." John started. Molly shushed him. She took him by the arm and leaned against him as they looked out. They both felt a sense of relief, the awkwardness of their situation passing. "If it's any consulation, you were a rather good lay." They both laughed.

"You're not so bad yourseld, Dr. Watson. Some lucky girl will snag you one of these days." Molly giggled. John swallowed at the mention. Gods, if she only knew. How would she react then? John dismissed the thought. Perhaps it could wait until this was completely over with before that issue came up. Somethings are better left to the imagination.

They stood together on the balcony, watching the sun dip slowly behind the horizon, when John noticed something peculiar on a building towards the end of the perimeter. He cocked his head curiously before realization dawned. "Molly, phone for Mycroft. Tell him to meet me at the western side of the estate. Do NOT leave Sherlock unattended, do you hear me?" He shouted and pushed her inside. She stumbled in, confused, but nonquestioning as John raced out the bedroom door and down the stairs. Molly did as John requested with growing fear in her heart and sat on Sherlock's bed.

John raced down the stairs, throughout the enormous girth of the mansion and outside towards the western most building. It was only seconds later that Mycroft and a handful of black suited men joined him as they trotted towards the building. "What is it, John? Have you seen something?" Mycroft stopped running as they neared the building. John stopped as soon as what he had seen came into view. He pointed to the building and Mycroft joined him in stunned silence. He motioned to his men, and they split up, guns drawn, circling around the building without so much as a twig breaking underfoot.

"Is there anything special about this building?" John asked. Mycroft shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's a guesthouse. There's no one in it currently, it's being used for storage at the moment." Mycroft answered and sighed. "I don't know how this could have happened. I haven't had any reports from the guard." The black suited men returned to report no unusual disturbances, no one seen, no break in the perimeter. "Whoever did this is very good at their job."

"That's what I'm afraid of." John swallowed hard. The group stared up at the width of the building in growing horror and palpable silence at the enormous graffitied "I O U" that now adorned the entirety of the side of the guesthouse. It can't be. It simply can't be. John felt a tightening of panic within his chest.

"Double security, I want this place searched top to bottom and the perimeter secured. I do NOT want this happening again." Mycroft barked at his secret service as they scrambled to complete their tasks. Mycroft motioned for John to follow him back into the safety of the mansion, but John felt it almost impossible to tear his eyes away from the calling card of the recently deceased Moriarty.


	19. Chapter 19

John stared out at the guesthouse building on the westside of Mycroft's property, deep in thought. The staff had already covered the building with a fresh coat of paint, but John could still see the giganti in his head where it had been despite the cover up. Who the hell could have done that? Surely it was one of Moriarty's henchmen. Hell, it had to be more than one, considering the size of the calling card and the building involved. The thought was unsettling. How could that many people have gotten past Mycroft's security? The cameras showed nothing, the staff hadn't witnessed anything. Perhaps they work for Mycroft? That thought was even worse than the first. John sighed.

"Penny for your thoughts, Dr. Watson?" Mycroft had entered the room and nearly unnerved the doctor with his silent entrance. His hand released the gun he had tucked into the back of his pants and he turned to face his visitor.

"Just considering the size of the operation Moriarty must have had going. That would have taken a lot of people to do in that short of time." John came back into the bedroom he had taken as his during their stay. Mycroft stood ceremoniously in the center of the room leaning once again on his umbrella. Does he take that damned thing everywhere he goes? John thought humorously. It was rare to see the older brother without it. Perhaps he liked to be prepared for anything. Perhaps it's got a hidden weapon or something in the handle? John could only imagine. And could not suppress his grin. Mycroft frowned at the sight.

"I suppose it had to have been someone connected to this Moriarty." The name fell off of Mycroft's tongue as if it tasted bad. John couldn't agree more. "How they were able to do such a thing is beyond me, but rest assured, the lapse in security has been corrected."

"We need to tell Sherlock." John started. Mycroft's frown deepened as his brow furrowed in disagreement.

"That's the last thing we need to do at the time. My little brother is in a fragile state." Mycroft sighed. John considered.

"On the contrary, Mycroft, he's on the mend and doing quite well as you've seen. He's well on his way to making your life interesting again." John gave him a sarcastic smirk, one which Mycroft clearly did not appreciate. "As a matter of fact, I'll be removing the stitches tonight. He should be fit to investigate this strange event on the morrow."

"He'll do no such thing." Mycroft barked at John, which was most unlike him. Usually he was sarcastic, slightly amused, but always polite towards him. This is bothering him too, whether he wants to admit it or not. "Unless something drastic happens, this will not be brought up. He needs to leave his unceremonious dive off of that building and that damned man who drove him to do it behind."

"Ah, I see where this is going." John nodded and walked about Mycroft as he spoke, hands clasped behind him in an almost Sherlock-like fashion. "You do care. You act like you don't, but this worries you just as it worries me." John met Mycroft's searing gaze and held his ground.

"Precisely the point. I've told you countless times I worry constantly. My ulcer is well on its way to bleeding with the two of you constantly running amuck. Once again, no mention of this unless something else is discovered. That's final." Mycroft turned heel on that note and left the room and John to his thoughts. A caring Mycroft. John shook his head. I wonder if Sherlock knows his older brother has emotions. John laughed at that thought as well. Sherlock was expert at hiding his emotions most days, why should his own brother be any different?

John's thoughts ventured back to the guesthouse siding. He frowned again. I'll keep quiet for now. John did not agree but felt perhaps it would be best if Sherlock did not know right away. He was recovering from his wound quickly and the last thing a doctor would want for his patient is to backtrack his progress. John gathered himself and headed out the door to Sherlock's room. He had a healing bullet wound to attend to.

John searched high and low for Sherlock and felt a momentary panic. He hadn't been in his bedroom, or the study, or even in the attic of Mycroft's gigantic mansion. He figured the consulting detective was perhaps wandering the grounds and that made John nervous considering the recent discovery, and cover up, of the I O U. He carried his kit with him as he walked about the fountains, gardens, and pool that adorned the well manicured grounds of the estate. The night air was refreshing to take in, and John noted the increased security that were making their rounds. He relaxed a little when he noted his good friend rounding the corner of the gardens in front of the guesthouse. He couldn't help but glance at the side, although no trace of the graffiti could be seen.

Sherlock was walking slowly, staring up at the stars as he did so, hands clasped behind his long back as he did so. He was dressed in his usual, white button up shirt, trousers and matching jacket, his curls crowning his statuesque face gloriously as he turned to note his doctor approaching. "Really think you should be out here this time of night with a gunman on the loose?" John pondered.

"Ah, I've got the entirety of the British government and secret service patrolling the grounds, John. Whatever would I need to fear here?" Sherlock grinned genuinely at him. John couldn't help but return the smile and they chuckled together. Sherlock glanced at the bag he carried with him. "Good, I expect you're here to tend to my wounds. This damned stitches are itchy and I'm ready to be rid of them." He glanced around, noting that the only guards in attendance were yards away and leaving the two of them to their business.

"You're correct in your deductions as always, Sherlock. Let's head back so I can have a better look at you." John motioned towards the mansion and turned sideways to assert he meant to return to the well lit mansion and its safety to properly care for him. Sherlock turned and looked the guesthouse up and down.

"Ah, I think this will do quite well." Sherlock noted and headed up to the door, inserting a key he produced from his pocket. John said nothing, but his eyes questioned as they always did. John found it was almost useless to ask him when he knew Sherlock would be eager to produce answers to unasked questions. He flicked on a switch just inside the door and a light came on inside. "Ah, everything is functioning. You'll have plenty of light in here. Besides, I'd like to be free of Mycroft's constant oppression from within his kingdom." Sherlock motioned with his chin at the mansion and headed inside. John followed him, knowing there was no point to convince him otherwise.

The guesthouse was just as magnificent as the mansion, only in a smaller space. Crystal chandeliers, ornate wood carvings, the finest in furniture and fabrics. Sherlock had wandered upstairs as John had taken in the view from below. He sighed and followed up the stairs and into a large master bedroom the size of a tennis court. Sherlock rounded the bed and flicked on the light to the adjoining bathroom. "Ah, there. Everything you need we have here. Shall I?" Sherlock removed his jacket as John closed the bedroom door behind him and set his kit out on the bedside table. He gathered what he needed from the bathroom, and reentered the bedroom to find Sherlock sprawled out on the bed, hands behind his head, shirtless and smirking. "Do your worst, Dr. Watson." He growled in his devilishly lowered voice. John felt himself stir, but gave nothing away.

He removed the bandage and viewed the wound, properly sutured with his skilled hands and well healed, only now a whitish scar across the otherwise flawless skin. He set to work with his suture scissors and forceps, removing the fishing line-like sutures one by one. "It's healed up quite nicely. Although you'll probably have a faded scar for the rest of your days. Not that it would bother you." John noted as he worked.

Perhaps you'd like to give me a proper look over while you're here. I'd hate for you to charge me a full visit for only a suture removal." Sherlock was trying to be coy and funny, and John allowed himself to smile and laugh. Sherlock rarely made a joke, but when he did it was usually hilarious as the context was usually inappropriate. He did rather well this time.

"At least I'm not trying to heal emotional wounds, Sherlock. Otherwise I'd be free to charge by the hour." John answered as he removed the last suture.

"I hardly think we'll need an hour..." Sherlock purred as he sat up on the bed, his face merely inches from John's. John felt that familiar flame ignite within him. Sherlock's voice was honeyed and seductive and perhaps he knew that, but it was having an intoxicating effect on him nonetheless.

"Sherlock..." John swallowed. "I'm not sure you're up for any strenuous activity considering your condition..." Sherlock was running a hand up John's thigh and causing him to tingle all over.

"On the contrary, Dr. Watson." Sherlock stretched back on the bed, flexing the many sculpted and lean muscles throughout his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. It was a sin to look that good without allowing another to touch. John felt almost privileged. "And you haven't even seen the extent of what I have to offer below those uncomfortably tight trousers." Sherlock and coy were working well. John was beginning to throb and hitch at Sherlock's touch as he continued to run that long fingered hand up and down his inner thigh.

"I suppose I'll have to give you a physical and thoroughly explore the possibilities." John grinned devilishly back at the detective. John put his hands upon Sherlock's beautiful torso and climbed on top of him to meet his soft, warm mouth. He brushed against Sherlock's lower half as he did so and could feel the hardness that rested between them. He felt Sherlock grin through the kiss as he did so.

The continued on in this way before Sherlock nuzzled John's neck and ear and whispered "Does that include a prostate exam?" in his velvety dark voice. John froze and looked Sherlock in the eye. The detective was serious.

"Um, ah-" John didn't know what to say but he was completely flushed with excitement and horror. "You or me?"

"Which would you prefer?" Sherlock groaned as he unbuttoned John's trousers and took hold of John's throbbing cock firmly. John drew his breath in sharply and sat back, causing Sherlock to release him. "Ah, I'm sorry, John. Perhaps you haven't reached that comfort level yet. On the contrary I have and I'm fully comfortable playing patient to your doctor." He continued to stroke John through the trousers, as John allowed this.

John considered. He wanted Sherlock in that way, but was terribly frightened of the experience. There were just somethings you didn't do and that seemed to be a line he wasn't ready to cross. Sherlock seemed willing and even eager to be on the receiving end. "But why? Is what we do not enough?"

Sherlock sighed softly, taking John's face in his hands and kissing him lightly upon his lips. "I have never experienced anything like it before, but I want you to the fullest extent. If you're willing. I trust you, John." Sherlock kissed him again and again, causing the fire deep within John to ignite as thought gasoline had been thrown upon it. He was undeniably brimming with lust, and the possibility of having Sherlock in such a way was dirty, sinful, wrong, and draining his willpower to resist completely.

John lunged upon him, exploring Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, his hands working at Sherlock's trousers with newly found skill. Before long they had peeled each other out of their attire and into nothing. They rolled upon the bed, a tangled mess of limbs, lips, and lust. John paused, nearly panting. "Complete physical it is then." John was up, searching for something, and his thoughts came back to him. He kept KY in his kit for various reasons. He reached into the bag and opened the packet as Sherlock continued to work him over with skillful hands. John moaned as he did so. He opened the packet, and was back upon Sherlock, hovering and running his hands over his lower back and the curvature of his ass. Sherlock pumped John with one hand as he squeezed John's ass in return.

John's fingers found Sherlock's opening and traced about it with his finger, teasing and taunting the horny detective as he did so. Sherlock moaned a lustful noise dripping with desire and want. When he was fully engaged once again in the kiss, John slipped his finger in. Sherlock cried out at the sensation and John stilled, breaking the kiss and searching Sherlock's face for something, anything. I don't want to hurt him... The look upon Sherlock's face was one of pure ecstasy, not of pain, and John continued his gentle assault once more. John found the correct spot and stroked it lightly. Sherlock thrust his hips forward as he did so. That's a promising response.

John responded with the addition of a second finger and Sherlock was becoming louder. It felt so deliciously good, Sherlock could barely contain himself. He was glad that John was concentrating on that and not on the hardness that was pressing into John's belly. Otherwise he'd have well been spent a long time ago. The moans, sighs, and professions of "John...fuck..." were driving John mad with desire and wanting. He removed his fingers, much to Sherlock's dismay and emptied the packet into his hand, stroking himself a few times to ensure he was well lubed. "Fuck, John...don't stop...bloody hell..." Sherlock was nearly writhing for attention beneath him. John took a deep breath, situating himself properly, and sank slowly into Sherlock.

The fullness and sensation were almost too much. Sherlock cried out as John entered him for the first time. There was no pain, as John had been diligent about preparing him beforehand, and Sherlock grasped John's hips and pulled, wanting, needing more. John took his cue and began to slowly move, finding it damn near impossible to not thrust away as the friction was absolutely fantastic. They met once more in a feverish kiss.

John barely took notice of the sound of something heavy hitting the floor as he thrusted. He broke the kiss to arch his back as he felt he was nearly close to coming undone. "Molly?!" Sherlock's voice brought him back to the brink of reality. Sherlock's hands pushed against John's hips, stilling them. John glanced down at Sherlock, flushed and sweaty with their exertions beneath him, staring in horror at something near the doorway to the room. John's eyes grew wide. Did he dare look? John swallowed, HARD, and turned to follow Sherlock's view.

Molly Hooper stood in the doorway of the bedroom, a look of horror upon her face as well, all color drained, eyes so wide John feared the would pop out of her head. The flashlight rolled back and forth on the floor beside her. "Fuck!" John yelled and pulled out of Sherlock so quick the detective cried out a devious and sinful sound of pleasure. John tumbled backwards and off of the bed as Sherlock rolled and took the comforter with him to cover himself. John stood as quickly as he had fallen with only a pillow to cover his still throbbing groin. Molly didn't move, only stared back and forth from one to the other, her mouth permanently an O of surprise.

"Molly?"


	20. Chapter 20

Molly had ventured up to Sherlock's bedroom in hopes that she would find him and John there hatching some plan on how to proceed with their current case. She had just finished keeping Mycroft company at supper in his disgustingly decadent and expansive dining room. She felt it only proper to join him, as John and his own brother never did. She felt the poor man was lonely. He lived in this large estate all by himself and Molly pitied him. Plus, he's been so gracious as to allow us to stay here while things are as they are.

She unconciously touched the butterfly wound closure that adorned her forehead where the bullet had grazed her. Being friends with the world's only consulting detective and his army doctor companion was a dangerous occupation. She wondered if all of their cases were as equally thrilling and lethal. She hadn't been privy to much of their bigger cases, only the ones they brought work into her lab for at St. Bartholomew's. She was healing, but she could not help but reflect on the fact that should could have very well lost her life that day in 221B Bakerstreet.

She entered the bedroom, finding no one inside. She sighed. Probably out and about doing something, although they couldn't be far. She walked to the balcony and glanced out over the expanse of the grounds. She wondered if John had let slip th to Sherlock. Most surely he had. She doubted that John kept much from his friend. She noted the strangeness of a light on in the guesthouse upstairs. Mycroft's men doing a security sweep? Perhaps someone was inside who shouldn't be. Molly suddenly found the urge to investigate. She had done a lot for Sherlock, this was true, but frankly the two of them were leaving her out lately and she wanted to contribute.

Molly hurried to her bedroom and gathered her flashlight, nearly flying down the steps and out the front door. She walked quietly across the gardens towards the guesthouse as to not arouse suspicion from the patrol or the house servants that were employed by Mycroft. She couldn't risk someone seeing the guesthouse light as she had. This is mine. Mine to discover and contribute. Her heart fluttered with excitement.

She tried the front door, finding it unlocked and slipping quietly inside. She shone the flashlight about the adjoining rooms before noting the muffled low sounds of human conversation floating down the staircase from above. There were two of them, both male as it sounded. She switched off the flashlight and started slowly up the stairs. She felt the nervousness and bile start to rise in her throat as she mounted each step. What if they have a gun though? Surely if there were gunmen after Sherlock and John twice, they'd be armed. She took a deep breath to calm herself as she reached the landing. I'll just listen in then, try to gather some information. I've been quiet so far. That will help without me getting caught and hurt. Molly approached what appeared to be the bedroom door and listened intently.

What she did hear were what sounded like two people going at it, which confused her. Perhaps Mycroft had a lady friend he didn't want anyone to know about? Perhaps the help were having at it while on duty? Perhaps I was wrong that I heard two male voices, they were talking low. Molly became bold when she heard "Fuck, John...don't stop...bloody hell..." And it sounded an awful lot like Sherlock.

Molly could hold her curiosity no longer. She pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside. Much to her horror, Sherlock lay on his back upon the bed in the throes of ecstasy, gloriously naked, with John perched above him and moving with a lethally slow rhythm. Her mouth fell open, her mind shattered and went blank, and she dropped the rather heavy flashlight upon the ground.

"Molly?" John stood beside the bed, clutching the pillow to his pelvis so hard his knuckles were turning white. He spoke softly and gingerly, afraid he would scare Molly away. Sherlock sat up on the bed, the comforter covering his lower half, his face beet red with embarrassment and fear. Actual fear, John noted. I don't think he was even this scared when he thought he'd saw the Hound...

Molly didn't move. She didn't dare to. She couldn't. She felt if she decided to take a step backwards or even towards her two supposed friends her legs would turn to flimsy rubber and she would fall to the floor. What is this?! I can't even...Her eyes darted towards Sherlock, who's face reflected hers in perfect unison. "I can't- I don't- What is this- I-" Molly started to blubber.

Gods, no. Please don't, Molly. John was beginning to feel comfortable in his new found physical relationship and now that Molly had seen...One step foward and two steps back. "We can explain-"

Molly turned, her first instinct being to race down the stairs and out of that damned guesthouse and as far away as the guards would allow her to be from the confines of the house. I've got to get out of here. The air is too thick, too heavy, I can't breath, I can't think, I'm betrayed, utterly and completely... Before she could reach the door to swing it closed behind her a hand grasped her wrist firmly and swung her back around. John came upon the opposite side of her, shutting and locking the door in a smooth movement. Molly decided to go with the motion instead of fighting against it, connecting her balled up fist with Sherlock's left cheekbone. She caught him completely offguard and he staggered backwards, hand still firmly on her wrist, unmoving.

"Let go of me you bastard!" Molly screamed at Sherlock, who recovered quickly from the contact to his face and swung her into a backwards restricting hug with his free hand clamping down over her mouth to stifle her cry. John watched, awkwardly naked except for the pillow, not knowing what to do. Molly struggled a bit.

"We can explain, Molly but please don't draw any outside attention. It would be exceedly awkward for Mycroft's men to find the three of us in the guesthouse bedroom with two of us naked and well, wanting." Molly seemed to consider the truth in this statement, and ceased her struggling. John and Sherlock's eyes met, as though they had a mutual unspoken agreement that this method had worked. Molly noted that Sherlock would most likely dropped the comforter as he had rushed to stop her and she could feel the hardness of him pressing into her backside. This brought back once semi pleasant memories of their bedroom physicalities and she became immediately angry. She dropped nearly dead weight, slipping from Sherlock's grasp, and elbowed him in the groin as she did so. Sherlock cried out in pain and dropped to the floor. Molly stood staring at John, chest heaving, panic and lethal anger in her eyes. John gulped.

"Molly," John spoke softly once again and attempted to approach her. She shook her head violently in protest and he stopped, hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Let's just calm down and talk about this rationally." John circled slowly over to where his clothes lay in a pile on the floor and bent to retrieve his pants at least.

"NO! Stop it." Molly screamed at him and he halted. Sherlock had regained some strength from his assault and was now kneeling on the floor, both hands concealing his privates. "On the bed. Both of you. Just fucking sit." Molly reached down and retrieved her flashlight, although what she intended to do with it was beyond her at the moment. John assisted Sherlock from the floor to the edge of the bed and they drew the comforter across their laps.

There they sit. Like two little boys caught doing something naughty and awaiting a punishment. Molly noted as she paced slightly back and forth across the floor in front of the door. She couldn't help but find it a bit amusing, the fact that they both looked so flummuxed and guilty. "How long has this been going on?"

John glanced up, begging Sherlock mentally not to speak as she was most surely a tad more upset at him than at him. He peaked his eyebrows to be sure he had permission to speak. "Just recently."

"How recently?"

"Last week or so."

"You made quick work of that. Bedding me and then bedding - Sherlock?" Molly was questioning it out loud as well as in her head. "You bedded me. I thought I was past all that after we chatted but...I guess it's always been true what people have thought?"

"It wasn't like that until recently, Molly, I swear..." John started and she threw the flashlight in a fit of anger at him, only giving him seconds to shield himself from it. She stood, now weaponless, and stared.

"So, how recently is recently, Sherlock?" Molly's voice was laced with poison and underlying intent. Sherlock looked at her at first with nervousness, but upon closer inspection his face was filled with guilt and sadness that Molly wasn't sure how to react to.

"When John found me in the apartment." Sherlock stated. John dropped his head, probably partly in shame, as he felt his face flush again. "Although I suspect I've had unrealized feelings for a lot longer than that. Not that it's any of your concern, Molly. We are not a couple-" Too far, Sherlock, too far! John screamed at him within his head.

"It most definitely is my concern!" Molly's voice was rising again, but the tears were coming soon, John sensed. "You and I were together, Sherlock! And I'm sure you brilliantly deduced that I have NEVER been with another, and then..." Molly's entire body seemed to slump in despair. "I knew. I knew you wouldn't love me, not then, not now." Molly looked at him with eyes so full of hurt and sorrow that John felt his chest tighten and his heart race. "You just can't play with ones feelings so, Sherlock." Molly changed her demeanor almost instantaneously. "I'm sure your brother would be most interested to note what's been going on in his guesthouse while he's been handling repairs on your flat and keeping Lestrade at bay." Molly turned once again to leave, revenge brimming within her soul.

"No, Molly!" John yelled out and she stopped.

"Please, Molly. Don't tell. We are forever indebted to you." Sherlock spoke. How does he do that? His voice, merely his voice makes me writhe with desire inside. The pain and hurt mix with the butterflies he gives me and everything feels okay...I'm sick inside. I must be. Molly turned and crossed her arms, wiping away the few tears she had allowed as she did so.

"Okay." Molly stated. John perked up, confused but intrigued. He glanced at Sherlock as he did the same. "I won't tell. But you do everything that I say, when I say it." Molly cleared her throat.

"Blackmail?" Sherlock crinkled his brow in disagreement but John cleared his throat audibly and Sherlock was quiet. His face shadowed contempt. He did not like the idea at all of being blackmailed, but as he glanced at John he couldn't help but feel that his connection with this trustworthy and incredibly intoxicating man was more important than his own pride. "Fine."

"Okay, Molly. That seems fair." John nodded and seemed relieved.

"Agreed." Molly lowered her gaze to an almost predatory standard. Sherlock cocked his chin up at the change. What could she be thinking? She was becoming hard to read, now that Sherlock tried. "Now. Kiss."

"Sorry, what?" John started.

"Well, considering you were doing a lot more than that a moment ago I'm sure that's not asking much." Molly watched, unfaltering. John and Sherlock looked at each other, confused. "You agreed. Anything I ask at any shall I fetch Mycroft?"

Sherlock leaned slowly over towards John and kissed him chastely on the lips, causing John to blush deeply once again. They were both still ready for anything at a moment's notice but they hoped it wouldn't come to that. Molly watched, obviously not much impressed. John returned the kiss with gusto, allowing his tongue to seek out Sherlock's and they kissed with growing intensity for what seemed like eternity.

"Fine. Enough." Molly waved a hand to dismiss the act and walked over to retrieve her flashlight from its place on the floor past John's side of the bed. She walked as if to exit through the door, her back to the both of them. "No worries. I won't be asking either of the two of you to be doing me any favors sexually. Looks like you've found the perfect partner in each other. I just like the insurance, since this is what it's come to. Lovely evening to both of you, boys." Molly paused before opening the door and exiting.

Molly walked slowly down the stairs, steadying herself as she did so. She only allowed the tears to come when she had reached the safety of her bedroom. She lay on her bed in the dark with the moon and stars her only light, clutching her pillow tightly to her. She was emotionally exhausted. She knew that Sherlock would never love her, but she felt an almost insatiable jealousy for him as she had viewed John claiming him. Her only hope of control over the situation was to "blackmail" as Sherlock had so graciously put it. At least then she could have a little fun to help with the feelings and emptiness that once again consumed her. Despite it all she still loved Sherlock, and this is what cut deepest of all. She would perhaps never love another, and that was okay.

Sherlock and John sat, naked on the bed for minutes longer after Molly had made her exit. John sighed. "Wow." Was all John could muster. Sherlock hmphed. They looked at each other a moment longer before Sherlock was on top of John and covering him with kisses and licks like mad. John was shocked. After what had just happened, Sherlock was still raring to go? It would seem he was as well, as Sherlock ran his hand up underneath the comforter to stroke him and found him ready and willing. "Sherlock-"

"Please, John." Sherlock trailed down John's chest and stomach towards his cock and John felt his hips arch forward to meet his lips. "We need to, I need you inside me again." Sherlock licked slowly up the length of him and John moaned. "Just like before. Please."  
Sherlock's pleading was undeniably hot. He couldn't resist. He rolled Sherlock onto his back, found the nearly empty packet and the remaining contents under the pillow, and slid a finger once again inside of him. Sherlock arched his back off of the bed, relishing the sensation once more. John did not hesitate to add a second finger, finding Sherlock more than ready to accept, and sank deeply back into him. The feeling of him was absolute bliss.  
Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips once more, this time pulling, wanting, pleading as he ran his thumbs about John's hip bones in velvety circles. John concurred, beginning to move in that agonizingly slow way once more. Sherlock was moaning his name, softly he allowed it to drip off of his lips between gasps and breaths of pure pleasure. "John...oh gods, yes..." Sherlock arched his hips to meet him and took hold of John around his neck with one hand and John's painfully hard erection with the other. He pulled John down until their foreheads met and touched. "I love you, John." Sherlock whispered and John groaned. Those words, those four words along with the delicious feel of their bodies together was enough to seal the deal. John thrusted faster, as Sherlock could handle it. Sherlock stroked John firmly in sync with their lovemaking and they both came in unison, emptying themselves completely, body and soul.

They lay together in the bed, arms about each other, legs entwined, basking in the glow of their lovemaking. Molly lay in her bed, curled up into a fetal position with her pillow, all cried out and asleep. All three dreaming of whatever was to come in the days ahead.


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock and John sat at the massive dining room table in the massive dining room eating a delightful breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, and pancakes. Well, at least John was. Sherlock was looking over a newspaper, barely touching his english muffin, much to John's distaste. It was extremely difficult and sometimes not worth the fight to get him to eat anything. Perhaps its because it's not on his terms, as is everything else. John noted and sipped his coffee. Mycroft entered the room rather unceremoniously this time and sat, a servant bringing him his breakfast and a fresh paper. "Good morning, John. Sherlock." Mycroft managed a smile, although it was a rather sarcastic one. John nodded, Sherlock ignored as always.

They three of them sat in this way for a few moments before Mycroft began. "So, shall we discuss the business of the mysterious gunman? Lestrade is chomping at the bit for information. I've been good enough to keep him at bay, but the British government can only do so much to impede an investigation, Sherlock." Mycroft dabbed his lips with his napkin.

"Right. Yes. I believe now is as good a time as any to talk about this. Sherlock." John aimed to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock lowered the paper and rolled his eyes dramatically, sighing as he did so.

"Very well." Sherlock mumbled in his deep voice. John smiled. Sherlock leaned back and pulled his blue dressing gown about him a bit as he did so. "What is it Lestrade is wanting?"

"Information as to why a gunman has shot up 221B Bakerstreet in an attempt to assassinate Ms. Hooper and Dr. Watson. He is trying to put the pieces together." Mycroft informed them. This wasn't completely unreasonable, John thought. Lestrade, after all, had a job to do. "He asks about you often, John. As you haven't answered his calls. Brilliant move." Mycroft nodded his approval.

"So, I suppose you're wanting to know if we should let the cat out of the bag to Lestrade as well?" John stated, as if to understand what Mycroft wanted better. Sherlock glanced at him. "What?" John shrugged.

" 'Let the cat out of the bag'? Really, John?" Sherlock was being his usual coy self, but he was amused and John could see it. John tried to act upset at being questioned, for the sake of Mycroft, but it was rather difficult. Oh gods, I'm going to have to try harder at this. John sighed and sipped his coffee in distraction.

"Yes, my point precisely, Dr. Watson." Mycroft started and stopped short as Molly entered the room. Sherlock and John instantaneously were drawn to the attention of her. Mycroft stood, as if to be polite. "Ms. Hooper. Good morning." Mycroft kindly regarded her as she circled the table to take her place across from the two boys whose faces were both pale with blushed cheeks. She had come dressed in her pajamas, a silk bathrobe about her, and her hair pulled haphazardly into a high ponytail. Surely she won't say anything...John couldn't help but feel his mouth go dry and his adrenaline surge. He glanced sideways at Sherlock, who sat with no emotion upon his face, although it was as flushed as his own. She had come in frowning but perked up, at least in jest at Mycroft's greeting.

"Morning!" She smiled a little too happily and sat. The servant came to take her breakfast order and she ordered the same as John. "Good morning, boys!" She smiled at them both. John returned the smile goofily, Sherlock did nothing. Mycroft's brow was wrinkled in confusion and contemplation.

"Well. Now that we're all in attendance. Ms. Hooper, we were just discussing whether Lestrade should be brought in on the situation. He is quite concerned for your safety. He mentioned you personally." Mycroft spouted. Molly said nothing, but continued to grin at them all. A fake smile. Oh, Molly. John felt disgustingly guilty once more. She was obviously very hurt, but trying to hide it well. We deserve to be outed for what we've done to her.

"Lestrade? Well, I'm flattered." Molly giggled. Things went quiet once more and the servant brought Molly her breakfast, to which she replied thank you and watched the maid walk out the door and shut them behind her. "Oh, it seems she forgot to bring my tea." Molly sighed and glanced up at Sherlock, who sat staring at her across the table. "Sherlock, would you be so kind as to pour me a cup? Two sugars, cream, you know how I like it." She met his heated stare head on without faltering. John glanced back and forth between the two.

Much to John's relief, Sherlock rose and went to the tea cart to prepare her tea. Thank gods. He could only hope that she didn't ask anything too outlandish of Sherlock, as he would surely balk and they would all be in hot water. Molly averted her eyes to meet John's, and he glimpsed the devilish gleam within them momentarily. "EXTRA cream, please." John visibly gulped, causing Mycroft to contemplate the weird chain reaction that seemed to be making its way throughout the room. Sherlock placed the teacup in its saucer in front of her and rounded the table to sit. "Thank you, dear." She looked to Mycroft. "When he was staying at my flat he used to make tea often so he knows exactly how I like it."

"Good to know." Mycroft responded, unsure of how exactly to respond. The conversation had taken a very strange turn. "Now back on the subject of-"

"I like my men like I like my tea." Molly spouted and sipped the tea. All eyes were upon her once more. "Hot and British." Molly laughed and started on her breakfast, a confused silence settling over the room and the three men as she did so.

When Mycroft sensed Molly was finished, he tried once more. "So, what are we to do with Lestrade, Sherlock?"

"I'm not entirely sure he should be in on this." Sherlock turned his eyes to his older brother. "The entire reason that I faked my death was to prevent John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade himself from being killed. Now John's back in the picture and he has already been attacked. Twice actually." Sherlock rambled off. Mycroft raised his eyesbrows. "Poisoned blowdart the evening before Molly was brought on scene."

"I see." Mycroft stated and settled back in his chair.

"There's a heart in there somewhere it would seem." Molly talked through a mouthful of toast and jam. Sherlock looked back at her. "The night before Moriarty met him on the roof...when he asked me to help...there were real tears there. He won't admit it but they were there." Molly was staring at Sherlock once more. Sherlock's stare was searing. John didn't know how to calm Sherlock without giving something away so he only sat and glanced between the two of them. Molly was certainly set on making a point. But isn't it well deserved?

"Have I missed something?" Mycroft questioned. John nearly choked on his mouthful of pancake he had chosen to take at the moment and shook his head vehemently.

"No, no. Just, I think that Molly's caught onto the fact that Sherlock's kind of blunt and rude without meaning to be so and, well, you know." John didn't know if that explained away anything but Mycroft nodded and left it alone. Another dip of relief from the high of nervousness.

Suddenly, Molly leapt up from the chair, a hand covering her mouth and she raced out of the room. She could soon be heard in the adjacent guest bathroom vomiting. John figured it was from all of the emotion and tension from the past few hours and he couldn't blame her. Sherlock turned his attention nonchalantly back to Mycroft. "I believe we need to sort out what's on this phone first before we attempt to bring in anyone else who doesn't need to be involved." Sherlock produced the black phone from his dressing gown pocket and laid it in front of them on the polished wood table. They all looked at it for a moment longer, as if it would do a trick or something right before their very eyes. "Tell Lestrade that all is well, you're looking into it, a stray gunman probably avenging Moriarty's death. John and Molly are fine and assisting with a higher investigation into the matter that isn't his division. He should suffice to know that the two are fine and it's being handled. He's a man of the book, or at least he was before he met me and allowed me to consult..." Sherlock trailed off, deep in thought. Probably remembering what it was like when he was on top of his world...

John reached out momentarily under the table and touched his leg, a sign of comfort. Sherlock sat up a bit straighter, whether it was noticed by Mycroft, John didn't know. Sherlock glanced at him with his usual blank emotionless face before taking hold of John's hand underneath the table and sliding it up his inner thigh. John drew in a breath as discretely as possible to note Sherlock was responding to his touch most promisingly. Not here, not here, not here... John began his mental mantra.

Molly re-entered the room. Mycroft didn't stand this time. She looked haggard and sickly green. She sat gingerly, not saying anything insulting or sassy as she did so. She sipped the tea lightly and kept her eyes to her plate. "Are you feeling okay, Molly?" John asked, genuinely concerned. She nodded, but she didn't look agreeable.

"Fine." Mycroft sighed in exasperation. "We will consider the contents of the phone and go from there. I'll put my people to work on locating and deciphering. Unless you've already figured it all out." Mycroft sneered.

"I've been a bit sidetracked as of late, Mycroft. I'm a deducer, not a decipherer of all sorts." Sherlock kept firm hold of John's hand as he held it to his crotch and blankly stared at Molly. This time Molly didn't seem well enough for a fight so he turned his attention back to Mycroft. "I may be brilliant but I can only do so much with being shot and all." Mycroft rolled his eyes this time.

The phone, laying in all its glory upon the table, vibrated once. Twice. And the hauntingly familiar tune of The Beegee's "Staying Alive" began to play. All activity within the dining room ceased. Molly gasped, John dropped his fork, Mycroft's chair creaked a bit. Sherlock only stared at the phone as it rang. It can't be. He became momentarily excited at the prospect of it being one of Moriarty's contacts attempting to contact him. Or perhaps another of the consulting criminal clientele. He reached forward hesitantly, picked up the phone, and answered it. "Hello." He spoke low and guarded into the phone.

"Hello, Sherlock." The voice was male, slightly familiar, a touch of malice thrown in for good measure. "Miss me?" The voice turned into a high pitched squeal followed by maniacal laughter. Sherlock sat motionless and pale.

"It's not you. It cannot be." Sherlock was in shock. He couldn't be completely witty when adrenaline and fear coursed through his veins and set him on fire with horror and panic. "You're dead."

"Two can play at that game, Sherlock. Just when I thought you'd lost your touch, you go and do something insanely brilliant!" The voice stopped. Only breathing on the other end. Sherlock said nothing. "I prefer genius Sherlock to ordinary Sherlock. You are living up to expectations."

"How-" Sherlock's voice was becoming faint. John had jolted himself out of his shock enough to realize that Sherlock could quite possibly blackout.

"You'll be hearing from me soon, Sherlock. I owe you a fall. You certainly held up your part of the bargain. Well, except that you cheated, so you'll have to accept the consequences for that. Otherwise we've got another round to play." The voice gave another fit of laughter before the line clicked dead.

Sherlock threw the phone across the room. It clattered noisily on the polished wood floor and slid against the door. John and Mycroft said nothing. Molly got up and ran to the bathroom again. More retching could be heard. John was too concerned with Sherlock to really give notice to this.

"Who was it, Sherlock?" John moved his hand, no free from Sherlock's grasp to his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "Sherlock!" He patted the detective's clammy face until Sherlock came out of the daze and looked at him.

"Moriarty." Sherlock stated, clearly and firmly. The three sat in silent awe, the sounds of Molly's sickness in the background.


	22. Chapter 22

John checked the temperature of the water within the alabaster tub and turned it off. He inhaled the scented steam that rose from the hot bath and went to the linen closet to remove two royal blue plush towels and set them beside the tub for afterwards. Today had been a long day. He was ready for a little relaxation.

After the events of the morning, Sherlock had disappeared into Mycroft's study, without the phone. He had gladly and surprisingly handed it over to Mycroft's techies to be stripped of its information and traced so as to be evaluated and the information organized and presented afterwards. Sherlock had been nearly visibly shaken after the mysterious phone call. John couldn't blame him. As Sherlock had risen from his chair to excuse himself he was shaking, perhaps not enough to be noticed by his brother or by Molly who seemed to be having problems of her own, but enough for John to know something was very wrong. He worried for Sherlock, but he had insisted he was fine and had gone to work without another word or touch.

John had busied himself with reading, tending to Mycroft in his many boring pursuits (John wasn't much for politics) and had gone to check on Molly later in the afternoon. She seemed better but had not been up to conversation. John couldn't tell if this was due to her being ill or due to her being angry at the two of them. He chalked it up to a bit of both and let her be.

Now he stood here in his briefs ready to slip into a nice hot bath and soak the remainder of the night away with a scotch and no interruptions. He took a look in the mirror, noted the scar on his shoulder, which always seemed to bug him even to this day, and leaned against the marble sink and hung his head. He was so mentally exhausted. So worn out from dealing with surprise after surprise...John figured that Mycroft surely would have mentioned th to Sherlock after the fated phone call had happened. Mycroft was stubborn and had tried to reassure Sherlock that Moriarty was completely dead. I checked him personally, Sherlock. The man had half a head left. Or did you hit your head when you jumped off the ledge and forget he killed himself in front of you? John sighed as he remembered the conversation. Leave it to Mycroft to fuck things up.

A warm, slender arm wound around John's torso, momentarily startling him, until he lifted his head to view Sherlock standing behind him in the mirror. His face was solemn, not sly and seductive like he had been the last few times. The half hug was promising though. Sherlock nuzzled into John's hair and breathed deeply. John debated even saying anything but Sherlock spoke first. "Let me bathe with you."

"Okay." John replied softly. Sherlock was reaching out for comfort, and John was more than willing to provide. He felt his heart swell for this man. This brilliantly smart man who just happened to be charmingly seductive and dreadfully handsome. I think a man is handsome. Who would have thought? John stopped his mental process. No, no, that's not right. I think Sherlock is handsome. John could nearly guarantee that he wasn't gay. He was merely attracted to Sherlock and Sherlock only. A very weird thing to think, but there was no other explanation. Sherlock had added his other arm around John in a protective and warm embrace from behind. "The tub is definitely big enough for two." John wasn't lying. Mycroft's bathroom tub was the size of a king size bed, if not bigger.

"Today has been dreadfully tedious." Sherlock sighed into John's ear as he held him. "I won't proposition you tonight. We can just..." Sherlock seemed to be searching for a word. "Cuddle?"

John couldn't prevent it the laugh that followed in response. He watched Sherlock's furrowed brow soften and the traces of a smile upon his lips. John closed his eyes as Sherlock laid soft teasing kisses down the nape of his neck to the curve of his shoulder. His body awoke with a newfound flaming desire deep within. He shuddered as Sherlock moved his hands slowly southward. Without thinking he ground his ass into Sherlock's already close pelvis. "Ah, feeling a bit frisky, are we?" Sherlock was smiling now, as John met his gaze in the mirror once more. Sherlock's eyes were darkened with lust and seduction. His voice had lowered to its honey glazed deepness that John was finding he could not resisit. He grew hard merely hearing Sherlock speak to him in that tone.

Sherlock hooked his thumbs into the waistband of John's briefs, sliding them slowly down his thighs and running his light fingers up the sides of his legs. John sighed, Sherlock responded with a squeeze of his ass. John ground against him once more, and Sherlock took hold of his hips and groaned. "Don't tease, John. You aren't ready-" John took hold of his hand and placed it firmly around the already engorged length of him, which shut Sherlock up quickly.

"I'm ready, Sherlock. If it's too much I'll let you know." John whispered through ragged breaths as Sherlock stroked him slowly. John relished the fact that he could feel the impressive hardening of Sherlock's member pressing against his ass. "I trust you."

Those words were all it took for Sherlock to take control. He turned John quickly to face him and drank him in with an intoxicating kiss. He explored John fully with tongue and touch. John sneakily slid a hand into Sherlocks briefs and teased his cock as he did so, causing the detective to moan breathlessly. "Bloody hell, John..." Sherlock broke away, dropping to his knees on the tile and wasting no time in taking John into his mouth to the hilt.

"Sherlock!" John cried out in surprise and languid pleasure. He could not stifle his cries as Sherlock sucked and licked along the length of him, hands stroking the sensitive inner thighs longingly. John took hold of his halo of dark curls and tugged, as Sherlock moaned around him in reply. "Sherlock- you've got to- oh gods..." John was finding it difficult to stop his lover from continuing. It felt so fucking good, he wanted so desperately to come. This is not how he wanted Sherlock though, not just this. He tugged harder on Sherlock's mane and Sherlock looked up at him. "I want you to have me. Completely."

Sherlock rose from his knees to his heady height, and looked down at John, hands upon each other lovingly. "You are sure? You could have me again if you desire..." Sherlock went in for a kiss once more and John complied.

"I'm sure. Please..." John groaned, begging Sherlock with his eyes and his body. Sherlock motioned to the tub before taking him in to finish the kiss again. They entered the water, hot and refreshing against their bare skin. Too hot, I'm already afire. John thought. Sherlock motioned for him to lean against the brim of the tub, and John did so, stretching his arms out to the sides.

"Hold on, lover." Sherlock floated up to him and in between his legs. He planted more luscious kisses along John's jawline, neck, under ears, nipping and loving. His hands felt silky smooth on John's skin beneath the water, extremely pleasurable. John waited anxiously as he felt Sherlock brush against his opening beneath the water. The heat of the water and the sensation were sensory overload and John gasped. Sherlock shushed him and covered John's parted lips with his hot mouth and kissed him mercilessly as he teased John's ass with those long, slender fingers. John barely knew when Sherlock slipped his finger inside until he brushed against the spot John had so quickly found when he had Sherlock not long ago and John cried out. Over and over again he cried out at each stroke.

Sherlock upped the ante with the addition of a second finger as well as his strong hand upon John's cock. John meant to push him away as he was afraid he would come almost immediately but Sherlock only teased him so as not to allow him to topple over his limit just yet. Not long after Sherlock was positioning himself between John's legs. He paused only briefly to note John's look, panting, wanting, hungry for Sherlock to be inside of him. "Please, Sherlock. Fuck, don't stop-"

Sherlock complied and sank deliciously into John. John winced momentarily, as the feeling of fullness was alien to him. Sherlock stilled himself, although finding it painstakingly hard not to being to thrust away with wild abandon, as John felt so bloody fucking good...John responded by grabbing Sherlock's ass and pulling him towards him with vicious hunger. Sherlock smiled and began to thrust slowly until John had grown accustomed to the feel.

John could not describe the pain, the pleasure of having Sherlock deep inside of him. The world was fading, no sounds but the splashing of water and of panted breathing from both of them as they made love. Colors swam, nothing was clear but Sherlock's handsome face as he threw he head back in passion and worked John over faster and faster... The friction of John's throbbing cock up against Sherlock's taut abdomen doubled his pleasure and he only had time to moan Sherlock's name before they came together. Sherlock emptied himself inside John and sank into the water with his lover. John struggled to catch his breath and slumped, spent against the tub.

John took Sherlock into his arms and rested his curly headed companion's head on his chest, their arms wrapped about each other. The water was a warm silky blanket about them. John sighed deeply. "What?" Sherlock asked as he closed his eyes, leaning up against John. "What is it?"

"It's something I never thought I'd be telling you, dead or alive, Sherlock." John answered. Sherlock raised up to look at him, concern on his face. Had this been wrong? Did I cross a line? He never told me to stop...Sherlock couldn't guess what it was that could possibly be wrong about anything that had just happened. "I love you, Sherlock. There, that's it. I love you and I don't ever want to be rid of you again."

Sherlock for once in a long, LONG time felt his heart beat faster with revelation. Sentiment was such a messy thing, and yet he felt sentiment for John and almost an ache for him when he wasn't near. I think this is love. Caring for another. Why is it so hard for me to know what love is? Sherlock searched his heart frantically. He knew not how to reply except with what he was feeling in the deepest part of him. He kissed John deeply and answered "I love you too."

It wasn't until they stepped out of the bathtub an hour later that John realized he had unconsciously taken out two towels from the linen closet when he was running bathwater. Sherlock seemed ever on his mind.


	23. Chapter 23

Sherlock glanced over the stack of papers spread across the desk in Mycroft's study with intrigue. So much information, so many ways Moriarty has spread his poison across the globe. It's absolutely astounding. Fascinating. Sherlock could not contain his pleasure at finding the information merely upon the phone and SD card. Despite Moriarty using his genius for less than acceptable pursuits, he was still a bloody genius. Sherlock had taken the liberty of using the large wall between the shelves full of literature to post up his mental picture with bits of information and pictures and the like gathered from the phone. His one connection to the supposively dead, and newly resurrected Moriarty.

Surely that couldn't have been him on the phone. It must be one of his cult of followers. Henchmen. Everyone's so bored nowadays. He found the thought oddly ironic. Only months ago he had been shooting holes in walls due to his own boredness. And driving John away. Sherlock remembered this as well. John running to current girlfriend at the time Sarah's house to get away from Sherlock's beligerence. I really can be a dick sometimes. He tried once again to focus on the task at hand. Mycroft would be pleased to know that he would require more time, manpower, and technology from him, he was sure.

"Pen, please, John." Sherlock muttered in thought and held out a hand to accept the asked for object. He glanced over, realizing that he was alone in the study and probably had been for a while. He tended to lose track of time easily, and speak to John when he wasn't around. Where has he gone to? Ah, yes. Sherlock's frowned. Molly. Despite her willingness to assist him in all things recently, she was beginning to be a pain. He chalked it up to emotion, hormones, and sentiment. Give her a break. She was assaulted with a barrage of bullets at your flat. Not everything was Molly's fault, he knew this. But between his newfound relationship with John blossoming as well as mystery calls from beyond the grave, he had little time for female drama. There was A LOT of it lately.

Sherlock forgot his qualms about Molly momentarily as yet another of Mycroft's IT men entered the study to bring him the list of contacts complete with numbers, addresses, pictures, and other background information. Jackpot! He thought happily to himself and was off again lost in contemplation.

Molly sat in her bed, wrapped up in a chiffon blanket, watching crap telly on her tv. She glanced at the 7 up on her nightstand, made to reach for it, and thought better of it. Everything that went down the hatch came right back up it seemed. She sighed and flipped through channels. All of this excitement was too much. Things seemed to be calming a bit after the scene in the dining room a few mornings before. She had the overwhelming urge to retch everytime she saw Sherlock now. She was still full of anger and bitterness from the revelation in the guesthouse. How can you love a man and hate him with every fiber of your being at the same time? Molly growled to herself and readjusted in bed. Either I'm worrying myself sick, or there's a damned flu going around. Being cooped up in this mansion with the same people and Sherlock's experiments probably is the cause.

The feeling appeared just as suddenly as it had vanished not but two hours before. Molly barely made it to the loo in time to retch once more. There wasn't a worse feeling in the world than throwing up. She felt turned inside out. She also felt too hot, leaning over the toilet in the bathroom in her flannel pjs. She stripped them off, accepting the coolness of the sparkling clean tile beneath her, and sat in her t-shirt and panties against the side of the tub. A washcloth was within reach, and she wet this down and laid it across her forehead. I've been left for dead it would seem. Not even Mycroft has come to check on me. See if I join him in for dinner again. She sighed, a long, languid sigh of woe as she mentally willed her rolling stomach to calm itself. She failed to hear the knock at the door as she started to drift off to sleep, momentarily comfortable in her position.

John rounded the corner, searching for her, and startled her as she sat, in her underwear and no bra, in the bathroom floor. "Molly?! Are you okay?" John started in, concerned to see her slumped up against the tub in the way she was, thinking she had fainted.

"John!" Molly screech and grabbed for a nearby towel to cover herself. John hadn't even taken notice until she had reacted and he averted his eyes and placed a hand between his line of sight of her.

"Sorry! Sorry, didn't mean to catch you in this position. I did knock." John's embarrassment was apparent. Why should he be embarrassed? He's seen more of me then just this. Molly's anger flared once more.

"What do you want?" She spat at him and made to move into a more comfortable position. John noted the sickly green tint to her normally beautifully pale skin as well as the sheen of sweat upon her. She made to go for the toilet again and threw up repeatedly. John approached her, taking hold of her long hair to hold it back out of the way for her. She did not fight him, but welcomed the help as she felt a bit weak.

"Have you been doing this since the other morning?" John asked after she had finished. She hovered over the toilet in anticipation of another spasm, but to her thankfulness none came. She nodded. "Have you been able to eat anything?" She shook her head no. "Okay. I can probably get you something for the nausea. We don't want you dehydrated." John was in full on doctor mode. Molly moaned. She felt miserable, and John being in the room with her, despite how helpful he was being, didn't make her feel any better. "Wait." John's look of concern intensified.

"What?" Molly rolled her eyes and attempted to get up off of the floor, finding it difficult in her weakened state. John assisted her to sitting on the side of the tub.

"I really, really hate to ask this, Molly." John crossed his arms. Oooh, this is getting serious. Molly watched him as he paced slightly across the bathroom tile. "Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

"I'm not pregnant!" Molly yelled at him, livid at the preposterous idea. John did not react. "I mean, I-"

"You're not on birth control?"

"No...but-"

"We didn't use any protection. Did you use any with-"

"No. Shit." Molly slapped a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

"Okay. Don't panic. Sit tight." John went to the phone in the bedroom and rang down to someone. A few moments later the nurse Molly had seen tending to Sherlock when he was injured handed something through the door to John and he thanked her. He returned and held the pregnancy test out to her. "I'll stand outside. If you get faint, yell." John shut the door behind him.

Molly stared at the test in growing fear. There's no way. This is worry, this is pyschosomatic. This is not morning sickness. There was no way to get out of it. She went ahead and took the test, setting it on the counter to wait it out and emerged from the bathroom. John sat on her bed, his foot thumping the floor like the bunny out of Bambi a mile a minute. He was chewing on his nails it seemed as well. Neither spoke. Molly eyed the clock, noting time was up. She sighed, met John's gaze in a moment of well wishing, and re-entered the bathroom. She picked up the test.

"Well?" John called after her a few minutes after he hadn't heard any reaction. He stood and walked into the bathroom. Molly was holding the test, a blank expression upon her face. "What is it, Molly?"

John glanced at the test and felt the world begin to spin as he eyed the pink plus in the tiny test window. "Bloody hell."

Sherlock was onto something. Something big. A good direction to start in, he was assured of it. One of Mycroft's servants entered the room. "Sir, Dr. Watson requests your presence in Ms. Hooper's bedroom immediately."

Sherlock glanced at the man and laughed. "Ha, it'll have to wait. No time to waste on things not pertaining to what lies before me." He rubbed his hands together eagerly, very happy with the last few hours worth of work.

"He said it's urgent."

"Noted. Thank you."

The servant bowed out and left him to his work. He got no further than another sheet or two before his phone began to ring. He ignored it the first three times before finally fishing it out of his pocket to note it was John. He answered it, rather put out. "What is it, I'm making head way and you're distracting me."

"You need to get up to Molly's, now." John sounded panicked. This was unusual.

"Why? What's going on? She commanding you to rub her feet while she watches telly? Ironing her clothing? Making her a cup of tea? Oh, wait, no. That's my job since I'm so good at it-" Sherlock began to ramble. He didn't want to deal with the dramatics of Molly Hooper at the moment.

"Sherlock," John's voice was urgent and pleading. "Get up here. NOW." The phone clicked off as John hung up. Hung up on me?! This is most unusual. Sherlock began to wonder what the devil was going on. He supposed he needed to investigate.

He arrived to Molly's room within a matter of minutes. "Yes, now John, what's so damned important-" He came around the bed to the bathroom door and froze. Molly was sobbing hysterically, sitting on the side of the bathroom tub in a bathrobe and pjs (thankfully John had been able to help a dazed Molly apply her pants before calling Sherlock for her sake). Sherlock felt his pulse race. Despite how he hated the position Molly had put them in, he did not like seeing her upset and crying at all. He wanted to make it stop, but he had to understand what was causing it.

"We've got a bit of an issue." John approached him, face drained of color but calm demeanor throughout. The professionalism of being an army doctor under pressure, no doubt. Sherlock raised his arms, as if to say, what of it? John made to hand him the test, Sherlock backed up a few paces.

"Women pee on that, John. I'm not touching it, just tell me what's..." Sherlock stopped. Froze was more proper a word. Yes, I was correct. Women pee on them. But if Molly's peeing on a pregnancy test...Sherlock was dumbfounded. John held the test out further for him to view the bright pink plus on the test. Sherlock did not react, just stared, first at John, then at the crying Molly.

"Brilliant deduction, once again, Sherlock." John set the test back down and leaned up against the sink.

"So this means-"

"Yes."

"Yours?"

"Quite possibly. Or yours. You didn't bloody wrap it up either." John shook his head. "I still mean spectacularly ignorant in a nice way but this has put all three of us in a very trying position." John gave Molly a sideways glance and stepped outside the room, leading Sherlock by the arm as he stared after her. "Now, I've still got to perform a blood test on her, to be 100% positive, but if that comes out as well, we've just gotten a poor virgin girl pregnant in the midst of her finding out that we actually love each other and not...her." John was really hating himself at the moment. Sherlock didn't know what to say. He was dumbfounded.

"Well, can't you calm her or something?" Sherlock was indeed feeling the growing panic within him. He wanted her to stop. Just stop crying, think rationally.

"She won't let me touch her. I can't really give her anything for anxiety due to the effect it could have on the baby. I've given her something safe for her and a baby for the nausea. It should take effect and make her a bit sleepy as well." John gave him a tight lipped look. "We should be ashamed, Sherlock. This is a bloody fucking mess."

"Agreed. But note that this does not change anything for me in the way of us. We can be there for a child we helped create without actually having to be with the mother." Sherlock prattled off. John was shocked. This was characteristically cold as the old Sherlock was, but at a time like now, it made John feel a bit relieved to know this did not ruin what they had just discovered together.

Sherlock turned and approached Molly slowly. John caught hold of his arm. "Sherlock, I wouldn't." He didn't listen, he walked into the bathroom and knelt in front of Molly as she cried into her hands. He softly put his hands on hers and lowered them from her reddened, tear stained face. Molly met his eyes, as fresh tears started anew. She swung at him, hitting him in the arms and shoulders to show her anger, her defiance, and Sherlock allowed it. When the assault appeared to be over, he wiped a tear from her cheek.

Her eyes were swollen and red, full of hot, angry, fearful tears. Sherlock felt his heart fracture. He had caused this. At least part of this. He didn't know who was more to blame, but he figured it was probably a majority of his fault. He knew now the extent of Molly's affection for him, and although he did not return it, he still loved her as a newfound friend. "It's going to be okay." Sherlock reassured her in that deep, soft voice of his. John's eyebrows peaked at the mention of this. Very uncharacteristic of Sherlock. Perhaps he is learning to care, or at least to show he does. John noted. Sherlock rose, gathering sobbing Molly up into his arms and carrying her past John to her bed. He placed her gently in it covered her as she rolled away from him and curled into the fetal position, clutching her pillow once more. Sherlock stood over her, watching her momentarily, before removing his coat and climbing into the bed with her. John sat down in the chair facing the bed to watch, to simply be there for Molly, as she allowed Sherlock to wrap his arm about her and hold her close as she cried. Returning the favor from so many nights ago. Sherlock justified himself.

Despite the shock of it all, and despite the two men she felt so much anger against being in her room, being the cause of this fear, this confusion, Molly was happy to have them both with her. She felt the tears continue to fall until she drifted off to sleep, a sob escaping her parted lips here and there.

John removed his phone from his pocket and called down to the nurse once more, requesting the supplies he would need for the blood test. Then he and Sherlock kept Molly company, considering where they were to go from here.


	24. Chapter 24

Mycroft knocked unceremoniously before entering Molly's room. He stepped a few paces inside to an unusual scene. Molly lay across Sherlock in her bed, both were snoring, Sherlock was spread all long limbed across the mattress. The TV was on, but obviously no one was watching it. He glanced over to the armchair where John slumped and snored on as well, his face propped up on his fist as he snoozed. Mycroft cleared his throat exceptionally loudly and John woke with a start. "Having our afternoon nap?" Mycroft quipped.

John yawned as the two upon the bed stirred as well. "It would seem that way. Being hunted is exceptionally tiring." John noted the manilla envelope in Mycroft's hands and stood, instantly more awake and with it at the sight.

"This came for you. Might I ask what it is?" Mycroft questioned as he reluctantly handed over the envelope. Surely he hasn't already looked at Molly's bloodwork... John gulped opened the envelope. Molly sat up on the bed and Sherlock rose, applying his jacket once more, feeling strangely refreshed from his nap. John visible relaxed somewhat, Mycroft cocked is head to the side.

"Just some of Sherlock's bloodwork. Looks like it's turned out just fine." John smiled and nodded to Sherlock who did his best to mirror it despite his confusion. Molly perked up a bit, although she still looked decidedly tired.

"Well, then. I'll leave you to it." Mycroft turned heel and left, seemingly satisfied with John's explanation. John hurried to shut and lock the door behind him. They waited a few agonizingly long minutes before they were sure he wasn't with ear shot of the door.

"Bloodwork shows you're not pregnant, Molly!" John smiled as he delivered the news. Molly nearly collapsed back on the bed with relief. No baby, thank gods! Sherlock seemed to relax a bit as well. "I think I speak for both of us when I saw I'm relieved."

"No more than I am." Molly shot back. John sighed. That was deserved. "In a different situation it would not have been so bad but considering..." She looked from one man to the other. "Wouldn't want to ruin a good thing." She actually smiled and got up off the bed to throw away the test that still sat on the bathroom counter. She glanced at it confused. "Why did I test positive then?"

John looked up from the lab work and his face was a bit more serious. He handed it to her. "Well, it could be that it was psychosomatic, like my limp was at one time. It can produce symptoms...but I think you'd better get checked. Some of your bloodwork is out of whack and I don't think I can contribute it all to stress." She reviewed it, the worry creeping back in but not at the extent it had been when she thought she was pregnant. "I'm going to call ahead to the hospital and notify my friend Dr. Montgomery to have a look at you."

"You'll have to clear it with Mycroft. You know how daft he is being about this whole security thing." Sherlock was staring out the window, hands behind his back as they usually were. Molly nodded her agreement to John and grabbed some clothes to change into.

John waited until the door was closed behind sauntering over to Sherlock. "What's wrong with her bloodwork?" Sherlock inquired. John handed him the lab work. "Hmmm. Possibly a tumor?"

"I'm hoping not, but if it is Dr. Montgomery can get it on quickly." John sighed. He didn't want to worry Molly on her way over to see his friend. John pulled out his phone and dialed up his old friend. He was nearly done with the conversation when a familiar face burst through the door with Mycroft following quite irate behind him.

"Oy!" Lestrade growled at John, as he hadn't noticed the tall, lean figure staring out the window. "Have a nice holiday?" He was very visibly upset. Sherlock turned, amused to face him and John ended his call.

"Seems Lestrade missed his friends and fancied he'd check in on them." Mycroft rolled his eyes, leaning on his umbrella in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Lestrade glanced in Sherlock's direction and took a step back. His mouth worked like a goldfish, unable to process who he saw standing right before him.

"Sherlock? No bloody way." Lestrade went to approach and stopped, stepping back again. "I've gone loony. Sod this." Lestrade ran a hand through his grey hair in confusion. He pointed an accusing finger in his direction. "Are you really?"

"Yes, Lestrade, for gods sake, it's me and I'm alive." Sherlock sighed, bored with the conversation it would seem already.

"But how did you?"

"I'll explain it sometime."

"You'll explain it right bloody now, you will. Damn it, Sherlock..." Lestrade anger turned to relief. Tears were pricking his eyes, and he was trying to hide them. Lestrade turned to Mycroft. "How long were you going to hold out on telling me this?"

"You'll watch your tone if you value your job, Detective Inspector." Mycroft hissed back at him. "I should have you removed as to barging in to my home against my wishes."

"If I were you I'd be more upset at your security, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade straightened, regaining his composure. "I got right inside, no questions asked. And it looks as if someone's vandalized your front gate as well. Damned teenagers nowadays I suppose." Lestrade bowed up to Mycroft, who took one more sweeping glare about the room before tromping out the door and down the stairs. Lestrade turned as Molly exited the bathroom and stopped, a hand across her chest in surprise. Lestrade's eyes widened. Mmhmm. Sentiment at work yet again. Sherlock noted as he watched their unspoken connection.

"Detective Inspector!" Molly smiled at him shyly. He nodded his head in hello. John watched as well, sensing an idea blooming within his mind.

"So glad you showed, Detective Inspector. I've got a favor to ask you." John took Molly by the shoulders and moved her a few steps closer to Lestrade. "Molly's needing a police escort to the hospital. I've called ahead so they are expecting her. Would you be so kind as to attend to her for us? We can't very well leave considering, um." He motioned to Sherlock.

Lestrade was looking at Molly and Molly was blushing. "Well, um. That's not why I'm here but seeing as she needs the assistance I'm glad to be of help." He grabbed Molly's coat, which hung on the back of her bedroom door and helped her into it. "But don't think for a minute I won't be back. You both have a lot of explaining to do." He put his arm about Molly as he lead her to the door.

John opened it for them and spoke to Molly. "Dr. Montgomery will be waiting and ready to receive you, Molly. He'll let me know what he finds out but trust me, he's best of the best." Molly nodded her thanks and let Lestrade lead her slowly down the stairs. John shut the door and leaned against it, the relief physically draining him.

"You should be a little happier, Sherlock. You've dodged a bullet, in a way." John smiled at him. Sherlock only gave him that sly smile. The door was being rapped once more. "Bloody hell, what is it now?" John rose and opened the door. Mycroft stood with both hands resting on his umbrella.

"I suppose it's time to once again let the cat out of the bag, as you so kindly put it the other morning, John." Mycroft sneered at his brother. "Come." He turned and the two followed him down the stairs and out to the front gate of Mycroft's estate.

Sherlock walked through the wraught iron of the gate and to the outward facing side of the stonework that shielded those on the road through the country from the view of the grounds. Sprawled rather artfully across the rock were the letters "I O U" in blood red. The paint was still somewhat fresh. Sherlock stared on, taking it all in. Much like the letters on the windows when I was in Lestrade's office... Sherlock contemplated. John joined him. "Sod this." Was all John noted. He glanced at Mycroft who walked nonchalantly out the gate to join them as well. "Suppose you should tell him about the first now?"

Sherlock turned to look at his brother, growing anger alight in his eyes. "There was a first? When? Where?"

"The guesthouse. An I O U, although rather well done compared to this chickenscratch." Mycroft motioned to some men inside the gate and proceeded to yell at them as he went to join them. Sherlock turned and looked at John.

"You knew about it?" Sherlock asked, rather surprised that John hadn't filled him in.

"Yes. Mycroft swore me to secrecy. You were still trying to recover from your bullet wound. He didn't think it best. A prank, is what he believed it was." John slumped his shoulders in defeat. Sherlock was obviously not happy with him. "This was all before the phone call, so you can't really blame us, Sherlock."

Sherlock was angry. How much I could have done with all of this before now! But he couldn't be mad at John. The man who wanted to protect him and not lose him to some maniac criminal genius's games once more. He leaned forward and whispered into John's ear. "I'll deal with you later." And simply strode off towards Mycroft to have a few angry words, no doubt. John didn't quite know how to take that. Is that a threat? Or a promise? John let his imagination get away with him as he joined the consulting detective and his pompous older brother within the gates.

John went looking for Sherlock not long after. He'd disappeared into his room, not to be bothered, and had even requested his dinner be brought there. John figured he was angry with him about not telling him about the graffiti before. Or was this a punishment to Mycroft, this sulking? He knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door to be polite, and entered anyway. Sherlock sat reading over a newspaper, the remenants of a supper he barely touched on the table. "I heard from Molly."

"Oh?" Sherlock answered without lowering his paper. John strolled in and around in front of him.

"Yes. It turns out it was a tumor. Unfortunately it' a cancerous choriocarcinoma. of the uterus. That's what caused the test to come out positive." John paused for effect. Sherlock said nothing. John snatched the paper from his hands and Sherlock reluctantly steepled them underneath his chin, deep in thought. "The good news, Sherlock, is that Dr. Montgomery was able to operate and remove the tumor. The cancer hasn't spread any further in her body. She'll make a full recovery cancer free." Sherlock closed his eyes. "Ah, see. I know you care about her. She's been through too much for you not to." John placed his hands on his hips defiantly. Sherlock breathed in deeply. "You'll also be happy to know that Lestrade's been with her the entire time. He's at her bedside currently. She's doing well, thank gods."

"Wonderful news." Sherlock replied cooly. Deep down inside he was relieved. Cancer. Caught early, due to their predicament. It was a godsend, whether John or Molly would view it that way. "Now we've to figure out what must be done with you." Sherlock glanced up at John. John furrowed his brow.

"What's to be done about me, Sherlock? What have I-" John remembered the comment Sherlock had made before. Oh. "Oh, you're going to punish me for being naughty and listening to Mycroft, ay?" John smirked. Sherlock's expression never changed. "You going to lay me over your knee and whip me?" John hitched his breath at that one. He couldn't help that it sounded kind of erotic in a way.

"Oh, no, Dr. Watson. I'll do worse than that." Sherlock answered and rose suddenly from his seat, scooting the table out as he did so, which shocked John, and he took a step back. "But I'll definitely have the upper hand." With that Sherlock was on him, nipping at John's neck and earlobes, biting and pulling his lower lip as he devoured him in a kiss. John's emotional state was out the window. He was afire with desire for the passionate man who was consuming him in any physical way possible at the moment. John's cock twitched as Sherlock ran his hands about the area. Just when he though Sherlock would take hold of him, he pulled away. Wait, no. John's inner self repented. Sherlock stood back and admired him, the look of longing on John's face, his erection very apparent through his jeans, his panting breaths, and a confused look upon his flushed face that pleased Sherlock.

"You mean to tease me, is that it?" John sighed. Do your worst. Sherlock approached once more, leaning in towards John's lips once more. John closed his eyes to meet them, but never felt them. He glanced down to note that Sherlock had dropped to one knee, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, and was now holding him firmly within his hand. Sherlock glanced up, his eyes ablaze with lust, but the smile that played upon his lips was devilish. He leaned forward and licked the head of John's cock ever so slowly. John's hips replied. Sherlock firmly steadied them with his free hand and continued his assault. John felt his was melting into nothing, the warm moist heat of Sherlock's skillful tongue caressing the length of him and circling the head over and over and over. John stilled his flexing hips and Sherlock took the opportunity to begin to tease John's ass with a finger. John moaned at the dual sensation. He was tightening, feeling the build up of an incredible orgasm within him.

Sherlock stopped and stood once more. John whined a bit, and looked up at him with longing. "You soddy bastard." John couldn't help but grin as well. He removed his shirt and stepped out of his pooled jeans and briefs and stood in front of Sherlock, naked and wanton. Sherlock looked him over, head cocked slightly, confused as to whether this was a ploy or if John was ready to begin begging for more. "Well, if you're quite done..." John took hold of himself and began to stroke, thumbing the tip of his cock as he did so. It felt wonderful, but not as amazing as Sherlock's tongue had.

Sherlock watched with growing fascination and desire as John stroked himself slowly. He was missing out by trying to have the upper hand. He quickly removed his t-shirt and briefs, springing free of the confines and giving John a little something to consider before hand. When he could watch no longer he was on him again, tongue exploring the warm moistness of John's mouth, hands upon his hips and his hardness as Sherlock's own erection dug into John's hip. "Oh yes, Sherlock..." John moaned. Sherlock slammed him up against the wall. He stopped long enough to take a breath.

"I'm going to fuck you, John. Up against this wall." Sherlock breathed raggedly. John nodded and instantly Sherlock's digits were once again inside him, probing, stretching, flicking against his prostate and causing him to groan with want for more. John's hands went for Sherlock's cock and when they took hold he gasped. "Careful..." Sherlock warned. He is enjoying this quite a bit. John couldn't help but smile to himself that he was the reason Sherlock was so bloody horny nowadays. "Wrap your legs about me. Now." Sherlock's voice was deep, low, and laced with feral hunger. John did as he bid, and Sherlock thrust inside of him without warning, his long hands upon John's ass to support him as he thrust inside. John cried out, but Sherlock did not stop himself. He thrust over and over with wild abandon, John expressing his pleasure with each rock of Sherlock's hips.

John could feel Sherlock reaching the cliff of his pleasure and let loose his moans and cries. This was sufficient, for three hard thrusts later Sherlock emptied himself into him with a cry of ecstacy. Sherlock pulled out and set John down slowly, trying to catch his breath. They touched foreheads and Sherlock put a hand on his face. "Gods, John. Bloody fantastic." He breathed and smiled. He glanced down and noted that John was still at full mast and throbbing almost painfully. "Fuck. I meant to..." He had become so lost in the moment that he hadn't noticed John reach the brink, and slide back down as Sherlock came and released him.

"It's okay, it still felt amazing-" John started but Sherlock silenced him with a lengthy finger upon his lips. He led John over to the bed, kissed him, and bent over the bed. John stared. Sherlock's naked ass was there, in the air. "What?"

"It's your turn." Sherlock gave his hips a thrust and John gasped, remembering what it felt like to have him deep inside him just moments ago with thrusting like that. "Fuck me, John. Return the favor." John stepped up behind Sherlock, as he'd never had him in this position and sucked a finger. He ran it over Sherlock's opening and watched the detective arch his back in response. In this way John prepared him before positioning himself and sliding slowly and deeply into Sherlock. "Fuck sake, John..." Sherlock moaned as he did so and John placed his hands on the detective's slender hips. Slowly he began to move, and as Sherlock began his murmurs of pleasure John proceeded to thrust faster and harder than he ever had. Moments later he released himself and came hard, falling over Sherlock's back as he finished.

The two of them collapsed onto the bed and laid for a moment, catching their breath, wiping the sweat from their foreheads, and a whole hearted laugh escaped from them both in response to their lovemaking. Sherlock rolled on his side, John laughed at his wild curls. "You've got sex hair." He stated and giggled anew.

"Does it suit me?" Sherlock inquired, his eyebrows arching in curiousity.

"Most certainly."

"Ah, good. You suit me." Sherlock's face fell, his eyes full of love and longing and happiness John had only glimpsed during cases when he was happy with what he was doing most of all.

"You suit me too." John gazed up at him and pulled him in for a kiss.

Moments later, as they had gathered their clothes and sat upon the bed, Sherlock with his arm about John's shoulders and the paper in the other, and John with the laptop in his lap searching his blogs, they were at peace. That was before the window busted into a million pieces, sending Sherlock on top of his lover to protect him from whatever what coming through the window. Before John reached down to retrieve the object that had broken through. The apple with the IOU scrawled into it.


	25. Chapter 25

The men had gathered within Mycroft's study, the apple with its cryptic and all to common message sitting on the desk in front of the man who was the British government in a physical sense. Sherlock sat across from him, hands steepled under his chin, John sat next to him, and Lestrade joined them in turn. A deep discussion had arisen from the arrival of the fated apple.

"What does he want?" Lestrade asked as he stared at the apple on the desk, a faint glimmer of disgust upon his face.

"He's angry that I tricked him. He wanted me dead, wanted my name slandered as a fake genius. Although he got that in press, he doesn't have it in real life and he's upset with me." Sherlock prattled off in his way.

"I still don't see how this could be Moriarty." Mycroft stated, sighing with exasperation. Always in denial. John noted. As much as he trusted Sherlock's word on other cases, why could he not just accepted what seemed to be the truth?  
"Who else could it possibly be, Mycroft?" John started with clear frustration. "Yes, we could chalk this up easily to it being one of his men, an assassin or something of that nature, but explain the phone call Sherlock received." John glanced at his secret lover who continued to hold his statuesque pose. "No one else would know Moriarty's voice better than Sherlock."

"The two of them met three times in total, you couldn't possibly-" Mycroft scrunched his nose up as he began his condescending rant but Sherlock cut him off.

"Four, actually." He met John's gaze. "You remember, the flat after the trial." John nodded with an 'Ah, yes'. He turned his attention back to Mycroft. "You'd better start accepting this, dear brother. After all, it was you who gave him my life story and all the information he needed to bring me to the ledge of that building." Sherlock's gaze had turned dark and stormy at the mention of his brother's betrayal.  
Mycroft shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable at the mention of his treason. "Apologies, Sherlock. I was only doing what I could to protect the commonwealth-"

"At my expense, and not taken lightly." Sherlock replied. John sighed as he listened to their back and forth. Yet another sibling quabble to add to their already long list, I'm sure. He cleared his throat. Sherlock took the hint and turned his attention back to staring through his brother and towards the large bookcase behind him.

Lestrade leaned forward and produced an envelope from his coat pocket. "If we're quite finished with the sibling rivalry." He handed the envelope to John. "While you and Molly were hidden away here after the shooting, this arrived at Scotland Yard addressed to Sherlock. Thinking of course that Sherlock was passed on I took the liberty of opening it." John took the envelope and pulled out what was inside. This happened to be a seemingly homemade pop up card. As John opened it a photo of John leaning over the body as the scattered and now known homeless network surrounded 'Sherlock' on the pavement greeted him. His heart suddenly ached, remembering the sights and sounds of that moment. He felt the bile rise into his throat. Sherlock watched his reaction intently and felt his own heart fracture at the remembered pain he had caused the one he held so dear now. The pop ups were of soldiers, nights, some with faces of Scotland Yard, notably Sally Donovan and Anderson, and a king at the top with the rather sullen face of Lestrade upon it, all staring down at the picture below. Written in a strange calligraphy upon the bottom of the card were the words:

"And all the king's horses and all the king's men,

Couldn't put Humpty back together again."

\- M"

John handed the card to Sherlock, who studied it intently, even going as far as to pull out his pocket sized magnifying glass to observe. Mycroft craned his neck to take it in as well and sat back seemingly satisfied to wait his turn to view the card. Lestrade spoke up once more. "I figure it was someone poking fun at the fact that Sherlock was dead. Considering it's signed 'M'..."

"You didn't even think to see that it was Moriarty. Understandable." John stated and nodded. Lestrade accepted that and felt no more need to apologize. "What I'd like to know is what the bloody hell the IOU stands for." John sighed.

Sherlock was grinning ear to ear. John noted this and glanced at Lestrade, who only shrugged. "Look, just look. Our beloved 'M' got sloppy." He thrust the card back into John's hands along with the magnifying glass and hovered it over part of the photo of Anderson.

"You think Anderson's in on this?" John questioned, rather confused. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Lestrade's interest was peaked.

"I wouldn't put it past him but no, John. Really look!" Sherlock shook the card and the paper with gusto and John took the magnifying glass to view it for himself. There, barely seen, but definitely present, was half of a human fingerprint. John's eyes grew wide. He looked at Sherlock in awe.

"We have a fingerprint." The words stumbled out of his mouth haphazardly. Sherlock smiled even wider than John thought possible. John turned to Lestrade. "We have a bloody sodding fingerprint." John rejoiced. The Detective Inspector took hold of the card instantly and carefully carried it out the door in hopes of getting it to the station to be checked over. "Whose do you think it is, Sherlock?" John turned back to the giddy detective.

"With all hope it's Moriarty's. If not his, at least someone connected that we can trace back to him." Sherlock stood and clapped his hands together. "Brilliant!" He grabbed the apple off of the desk and took a bite out of the solid side. Mycroft squirmed in his seat and looked at Sherlock with distaste.

"Hope he didn't take the liberty of poisoning that apple, Snow White." Mycroft chided and Sherlock laughed, tossing the apple in the air with his giddiness. Mycroft barely caught hold of it and managed to place it back onto his desk with an even deeper furrow in his brow.

"What's to fear, Mycroft?" Sherlock planted a strong hand on John's shoulder. "I've got my own personal army doctor to treat me." Sherlock winked at him before heading out the study door, his long coat trailing out behind him as he did so.

John glanced back at Mycroft, who sat rubbing his eyes with one hand and thumbing his fingers on the desk. This vaguely triggered a memory of Sherlock telling John about the computer code that Moriarty was tapping out on his lap when he visited the flat that fateful day... He had a glimmer of an idea. He stood and followed Sherlock out the door, leaving Mycroft to his sulking.

I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. Mycroft wondered to himself. I just don't want it to be true. Mycroft sat back and took a deep breath. I don't want Moriarty alive so he can try to kill you off again. I mourned you once. Twice is two times too much.

John led the way up the stairs to Molly's bedroom. She had returned from the hospital shortly after the men had had their meeting in the study and John was happy to see Lestrade open the bedroom door as he and Sherlock entered. Molly looked bright and cheery considering all she had been through three days previous. John approached her and hugged her as she sat up in the bed. She returned it warmly. "How are you feeling?" John asked softly and sat upon the side of the bed.

"Much much better, thank you." Molly was practically beaming, and John was happy to see her feeling so well. "I hardly even hurt, thank goodness. Lestrade's been tending to me very well." Molly glanced in the direction of the Detective Inspector shyly and John noted the blush that filled the apples of her cheeks as she mentioned their police friend's name. John looked back across the room at Lestrade who stood, hands in pockets, grinning back at her almost schoolboyishly.

"How's the mrs.? Sherlock spout off. John rolled his eyes. Take a day off, Sherlock. Give the man a break. He wasn't sure if Sherlock hadn't noticed the chemistry between Molly and Lestrade in the last few seconds, or if he was being faciscious on purpose. He was in a rather good mood today. Perhaps he is feeling generous with the pushing of buttons as well.  
"With her sister. We've separated." Lestrade answered, but didn't seem disillusioned by Sherlock's stab at him. His eyes remained on Molly.

John turned his attention back to Molly. "May I?" He asked and she nodded, pulling the blanket down to allow John to lift her bandage and check the incision that ran across her lower abdomen below her belly button. It was healing nicely, and the bandage was still very clean and dry. "You'll be up and running about in no time."

Molly threw her arms about his neck in a friendly hug once more. "Thank you again, John. Dr. Montgomery was wonderful. He said if this hadn't happened I might not have caught it before it spread. He said I won't even have to endure medications or chemo, as he was able to get all of it. I'll be cancer free. I have you to thank." She released him and the tears were present in her eyes. John shook his head, wiping one away.

"Don't thank me, Molly. It was a godsend. I'm just glad you're okay." John stifled a sniffle as well. He felt so relieved to have them all back, and Lestrade to boot. Sherlock had wandered around the side of the bed and stood next to John, who took it as a cue to stand up and leave them to it, approaching Lestrade to ask about his situation since Sherlock had so sorely brought it up.

Sherlock took Molly's hand and lifted it to his lips as he bent, placing a warm soft kiss on it. Molly watched him intently, still feeling the pull of her heart to him as he did so. She was beginning to grow used to this feeling. She felt she may forever feel this tug towards him, towards her brilliant genius of a man, although she knew she probably would never be with him ever again. She noted Lestrade, who had been so wonderful to her. Staying with her all through the night at the hospital, even turning cases he stated were "not his division" over to the other Detective Inspectors so that he would not have to leave her side as she recovered. She had never really even considered him as a prospect, mainly due to the fact he was married, even if it was unhappily. "I'm pleased to see you back and healthy, Ms. Hooper." Sherlock brought her out of her daydreaming daze with his deep, harmonious voice and she felt her heart warm for him once more. He leaned closer. "I know you're still angry with me, as you should be, and may forever be." He smiled at her. "But you do still count." Molly smiled at him as he stood and strode away, his soliloquey finished.

"Well now, Detective Inspector, have you found out any information on the fingerprint on the card?" Sherlock approached Lestrade in his usual demeanor, back to egotistical and narcissistic Sherlock in an instant.

"Yes, I'm waiting on the results as we speak." Lestrade answered.

"I hope you didn't hand it over to Anderson." Sherlock became tightlipped just at the mention of the forensics personnel's name. Lestrade cocked his head in disappointment.

"No worries, I put Duvall on it." Lestrade had already anticipated his late friend's aversion to Anderson and had done otherwise. Sherlock had better consider him a friend. John thought to himself as he viewed the back and forth once more. It seemed more and more these days he was mediator.  
"That reminds me." Molly called out and the men turned to face her. She leaned over, wincing a little, and retrieved an envelope from her coat pocket as it lay on the chair next to the bed. She handed it over to John as he stepped to take it from her. "I woke up in the hospital when Lestrade had stepped out to get some coffee and it was laying on the bedside table next to me." Her face had grown serious and a little pale. "It's addressed to you, John. But I feared to open it for I didn't know what it might contain."

John nodded and gave her a grin. "Smart girl." John glanced at Sherlock and Lestrade and opened it gingerly. When nothing escaped that seemed to be harmful, he pulled out a card, much like the one Lestrade's office had received that had the fingerprint upon it. It showed a pond, with a prince standing over it holding a frog. Each lilypad in the pond had a different picture of John upon it, from views and angles showing he had obviously been followed. He felt a knot form in his stomach. Written below it were the words:

"The Frog Prince

There once was a prince who came upon a frog in a pond,

The prince was very sad, for he had no princesses that drew his attention and he longed for a companion, a union of true love.

The frog said, "You weep bitterly for you are alone, my prince. Give me a kiss and you will have your one true love.

The prince was hesitant to accept the frog's word, but he was so very alone in the world without a friend that he did as the frog asked,

And before his eyes stood his one true love, realized from just one kiss, and they lived happily ever after...

Or did they?

\- M"

John glanced up at Sherlock, who seemed to be holding his composure rather well. Sherlock took it once more and looked it over with his magnifying glass. He searched longingly but did not find any fingerprint or other incriminating evidence, much to his dissatisfaction.

"What do you think this one means?" Lestrade asked nervously. Sherlock shook his head. Lestrade threw his hands up in the air. "Well, if you find anything on it let me know, I'll take it to Duvall." He strode over to Molly and kissed her forehead lightly. She closed her eyes and accepted it with a smile. Sherlock frowned, John caught a glimpse. Curious."Well, I'll be off then. I've got some business to take care of down at the office, but I'll return. I can't stay gone forever, even if I'd like to." He smiled at Molly once more before taking his leave. On his way out the door he motioned to Sherlock. "Follow me out for a moment, if you would, Sherlock." Sherlock obliged.

As soon as Sherlock entered the hallway Lestrade turned, taking hold of him by his coat and slamming him up against the hallway way. Sherlock was noticeably taller, and so the confrontation must have appeared rather awkward as Lestrade looked up into Sherlock's face as he drew near. "I know about everything, Sherlock. Molly talks in her sleep and she talks an awful lot about you. You and her, I suppose. Not all of its happy lovey dovey rainbows and unicorns either. If I ever hear of you mistreating her." Lestrade took a breath. "Deduce what might happen next." Lestrade released him then, stepping back and straightening his jacket and allowing Sherlock to do the same. He then held out his hand to Sherlock, as if to say 'now that I've gotten that off my chest we can still be friends', and Sherlock accepted. He couldn't blame Lestrade. He only hoped Molly was speaking of their tryst and not of him and John. What an awkward conversation that would be. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he re-entered Molly's room.

John entered his bedroom that evening, after checking on Molly to make sure that she was comfortable and well taken care of. Mycroft had entered the room as he was leaving and Molly looked delighted to see him. Returning the favor for all of those dinners she must have attended that we missed. John felt a little bit of ease as he attended the stairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. He failed to turn on the lights, as he viewed the moonlight filtering in through the window and onto the silohuette of his friend, his lover, Sherlock standing in the window looking out across the grounds. "Fancy I'd see you here." John stated with cheer in his voice. He approached Sherlock, and noted the solemn look that graced his handsome face. "What's bothering you now? Out with it." He also noted that he was shirtless and dressed in only his pajama bottoms that hung on his hips in a delicious way. I'm beginning to see sex in everything, bloody hell. John reprimanded himself.  
"The Frog Prince." Sherlock stated, enunciating every syllable of those three words. His eyes searched the sky, as if looking for an answer.

"Any idea what it means?" John asked as he removed his shirt and pulled the covers back on the bed.

"I know exactly what it means." Sherlock stated with a bit of attitude present in his voice. He was upset, although John couldn't quite guess why. He walked over to Sherlock, snaking his strong arms about his slender waist in hopes of softening the detective's mood. "You are the frog prince, John. He knows of our love." Sherlock crossed his arms about his chest. Oh. John hadn't even considered that possibility but when he remembered it made absolutely sense. This is probably not a good thing.  
"So what? Are we worried he's going to sell that to the press next?" John joked. He was trying to lighten the mood to no extent. Sherlock turned, taking him by the shoulders firmly, almost painfully. Sherlock's face was stone.

"That puts you in danger. If he wants to hurt me, to burn the heart out of me, all he has to do is get to you." Sherlock seemed to be having trouble with the words. John hugged him close, enclosing the worried detective in his arms and squeezing him tight. "If anything ever happened to you because of me. No. If anything ever happened to you at all-" Sherlock started and John stopped him short with a loving kiss. Sherlock softened into it, taking John's face into his hands as he kissed him, transmitting all of his emotion and sorrow into the kiss to make it raw and electric. John held him close in a tight embrace, and it wasn't long before the evidence of their kissing became apparent down below. John's erection rubbed against Sherlock's inner thigh and the detective moaned lusciously.

Slowly they walked towards the bed, still close and embracing and fell back upon the bed. John took the opportunity Sherlock gave him while kissing a hot trail about his neck and the top of his pecks to whisper "Nothing's going to happen to me, Sherlock. We're here, and I've got you to protect me, as you have me." Sherlock kissed down around John's bellybutton, dipping in momentarily with his tongue and causing John's breath to catch in his throat at the sensation. He continued down lower, bending over him on top of the bed, the outline in the moonlight absolutely sinful in John's wild imaginative eyes. Sherlock had trace his way tantalizing down to John's erection and kissed it through the fabric of his pajama pants softly and teasingly. John took hold of Sherlock's hair in both hands and tugged at each kiss. Quickly, Sherlock was on top of him once more, nearly nose to nose. He began to grind his hips and his hardness against John's pelvis. The friction was antagonizingly wonderful and John was arching his hips to meet his lover's.

"I cannot shut off my brain, John. I've got so much running through, and the thought of you being hurt because you are mine, has my emotions overloading and I need..." He sighed as John joined the friction of their groins with his hand, stroking Sherlock through the fabric to the point where he ached with need.

"I know what you need." John whispered languidly into Sherlock's ear as he leaned across him. "I want you." John stated simply and Sherlock groaned once more. John moved, made to turn and Sherlock stopped momentarily, allowing the army doctor to roll onto his stomach. Sherlock was now gazing down at the softness of John's back. It looked so strong and...Sherlock's eyes followed down to his lower back where his bottoms covered his...

Sherlock pulled off the bottoms in one smooth motion and stood admiring John's physique as he slid off his own. John, spread out on the bed, his back and amazing ass all in perfect view. Sherlock could hardly contain himself. He grabbed the lube that John had told him was in his kit, which was always close by his side and stroked himself as he prepared to take his lover. Just the touch was almost too much, as he had become so aroused it was nearly painful to touch himself. He laid kisses about John's ass cheeks and played with John's opening, causing the man to nearly writhe and groan with need and wanting as well. When they were ready, Sherlock lay on top of his lover, stroking the skin of his back, taking hold of his hips, positioning himself, and sinking slowly into John, as John responded with a sigh of "Fuck, yes..."

Sherlock moved slowly at first, but John pushed his hips back, arching them towards Sherlock's intrustion and he moved with more fervor afterwards. It was intense, to take control of John in this way, as John was definitely expressing his pleasure with many "Oh, gods..." and moans of "Sherlock" and "I love you, fuck yes." It was one particular "Fill me up, completely, fuck." That got Sherlock really going and he felt the need to bite into the doctor's shoulder in a moment of passion. John cried out as Sherlock slammed into him over and over, hitting his sweet spot. This mixed with the pleasureable pain he felt in his shoulder drove him to desire and he explode with pleasure with a cry. Sherlock joined him seconds later, crying out his name as he emptied himself body and soul into his companion and collapsed, chest heaving upon his back. He continued to lay kisses upon the back of his neck, sending chills up John's spine.

Sherlock removed himself slowly and stood, admiring John once more. He was a beautiful man, strong and handsome and so full of heart and soul and bravery he could hardly contain it. He was nearly driven to tears. There's only one other time I've done this. Sherlock noted. And that was when I was about to break his heart. Sherlock realized that even at that moment, when he had made his phone call to John from atop the building, he loved him. If not in a sexual sense, he loved John for being his one and only.  
John turned over, beckoning Sherlock to join him on the bed and he gladly did so gladly, crawling into John's arms to hold him close and perhaps never release him. Sentiment had completely taken over and he did not know exactly how to hand the overload of emotion he felt for this man whose crook of neck allowed for the perfect place to place his head. In this way, they drifted off to sleep, the card forgotten and fallen on the floor in the moonlight. the 'M' deceptively black and impersonal.


	26. Chapter 26

The group had gathered around in the study after finishing a rather large meal and sat discussing mundane things for once since they had come to stay at Mycroft's estate. Lestrade had arrived, bringing news of the fingerprint that Sherlock had found on the humpty dumpty card Scotland Yard had received following his death. Duvall had concluded that it was a print that could only belong to one, Richard Brook. John supposed this would upset Sherlock, as Richard Brook did not exist, although Jim Moriarty did. On the contrary, Sherlock was overjoyed.

"Don't you see what this means, John? Moriarty is our person. He is alive and well, although his survival of a bullet to the brain is much more interesting and spectacular than my leap off of the hospital." Sherlock waved the results in John's face ecstatically. John smiled and took them from him to review. "We have now confirmed that he is alive, and he has to be the one who is sending all of the cryptic IOUs and fairytale cards. We are at least on the correct path." Sherlock wore his victorious grin handsomely, both John and Molly noted.

In celebration of the news, Mycroft was feeling generous, approaching the small bar he had in the study, and removing a couple of bottles of his finest bourbon and whiskey, along with five glasses. Sherlock showed pleasant surprise at Mycroft's gist. "I suppose this calls for a celebration." Mycroft smiled, for once warmly instead of sarcastically. He glanced at Lestrade, considered, and set the glass in front of him. "At least one or two drinks shouldn't take away too much from your ability to function on scene if needed."

Lestrade removed his jacket and sat, smiling up at Mycroft. "Actually I just finished shift before I came over, so I am free to join you since you seem to have included me." He took the glass and swished the whiskey about it with a smile on his face. Molly was sitting next to him and watching him intently, sitting on her hands in her nervous way. She was obviously becoming smitten, John noted, and this made him happy for her. Molly deserved someone who cared for her and would protect her. He glanced at Sherlock, whose mirth was apparent, although held back somewhat, as was his nature. Mycroft poured them all a glass and capped the bottle once more, raising his glass up into the air.

"A toast." Mycroft nodded to each other them. "To being one step closer to closing this chapter." They all took their shot. "Cheers!" He announced afterwards and they all laughed and applauded.

Many, many drinks later, the group had fallen into discussion about the government, with Mycroft leading the group on that one. Sherlock was standing at the darkened window staring out over the moor that laid to the west of the property. John joined him, refilling the empty glass he held in his hands and clinking it together with his. Sherlock smiled down at him as a flash of lightening echoed over the sky, lighting up the clouds in a flourescent blue and purple. "Storm's coming." John noted and sipped his whiskey. Sherlock smiled once more at him. The alcohol was definitely taking effect for the both of them. Sherlock did not drink much, although from time to time he enjoyed a good aged spirit. Never to excess. Apparently never to excess until tonight as the entire group made it easy to forget how many glasses and shots you'd already had. Thunder rumbled, as the storm grew ever closer.

"I must warn you all." Mycroft laughed. "The storms that come across the moor tend to be somewhat severe. We may lose power, but we've got back up generators if need be."

"Oh, as long as we've got some candles I think we'd be okay. Things are ever more interesting in the dark." Molly noted, sipping her bourbon and watching Lestrade as he met her gaze and returned her smile. Mycroft slightened his brow at this one, but agreed nonetheless.

The wind picked up outside and John stared out and watched as the lightening grew ever more present. He also took notice that Sherlock was watching him. His eyes were full of mischief and that darkened lust. What are you planning, Sherlock? John felt excitement flood his veins as he took another drink of his spirits, which warmed his throat on its way down. More kinky fuckery I presume.

The storm was upon them within minutes, the lights flickering here and there. Molly would make a little squeal each time they almost went off. Sherlock turned and faced the group, obviously loosened by the drinking and regarded them all. "I've a proposition." He stated in his deep baritone. The chatter died down between the three that still sat about the desk. "If, and shall I say, when the lights do go out, I propose we play a game."

Mycroft scoffed. His usual demeanor was more relaxed as well though, John noted. "And what sort of game can you play in the dark, Sherlock?"

"We used to play it all the time as children, Mycroft. Don't you remember?" Sherlock smiled in his coy way. "Hide and seek. No lights, no flashlights, just all of us within the expanse of your great estate trying to find one another. Makes for many surprises." Sherlock swigged back the remainder of his drink. Mycroft regarded this quietly for a moment.

"Sounds brilliant!" Molly clapped, the alcohol clearly having the most effect on her. She rarely drank, and so could not hold her liquor as well as the rest of the lot.

"I'll drink to that!" Lestrade raised his glass up into the air in salute and drank it back, reaching a hand over to place it on Molly's. Her smile was ear to ear.

"What do you say, big brother?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow in Mycroft's direction.

Mycroft swirled his bourbon about in the glass as he considered. He then met his brother's gaze. "Alright. I'll make the call. Although do be careful running about the stairs and such. I'd like not to be responsible for any injury related to this childish game." Despite his tone being monotonous as always, he was grinning, which was most unlike Mycroft Holmes to do. He leaned forward, taking the phone and dialing a number, giving the order regarding backup lightening. His staff probably think we're all nutty drunkards. John laughed to himself in his fuzzy alcohol daze. Sherlock turned and regarded him with that devilish twinkle in his eye.

As if on cue as Mycroft hung up the phone, the lights flickered ghostly once more and went out as a loud clap of thunder cracked outside the big bay windows to the study. "The game is on!" Sherlock called out.

"Wait, wait, who shall be it?" Molly asked as she stood, although it was rather hard to make out what everyone was up to between flashes of lightening. Quiet filled the room.

"Not it!" John called out quickly, the others following suit. Mycroft seemed lost on the idea and therefore called it out last, being made the tagger. There was a lot of shuffling and movement heard about the room as everyone made to leave. "Well, don't be daft, Mycroft! Count!"

You could hear the reluctancy in Mycroft's sigh, before he started "One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three..." And continued on as the group made their way out of the study into the blackness of the house. Molly was giggling, Lestrade was laughing as well, wholeheartedly filling the house with its rumble as the thunder had. John felt a hand grab his and pull him in a direction. He followed, half blind throughout the house and up into the higher floor of the mansion, notably an attic.

John was laughing as Sherlock pulled him inside and shut the door just so as it was found. He turned and found John's mouth expertly within the dark and they kissed passionately as the lightening flashes filled the room. Sherlock broke the kiss and whispered "We've a game of our own to play."

"A game within a game?" John chuckled. Leave it to Sherlock to make things more complicated. Well, if not interesting. John went in for another kiss and Sherlock pulled back teasingly.

"Quite so." He smiled and leaned up against the wall, blocking John against it. "It's the quiet game with a twist. Whoever from this moment on makes a noise, loses." Sherlock stated. John clamped his mouth shut. Shouldn't be so hard, that. John stifled a laugh. The alcohol certainly made it more difficult not to respond. Sherlock shifted his hand and rubbed it down between John's legs, brushing up against him, his hot breath against his neck. John almost gasped out loud, but held it. Ah, so that's what we're going to play. Cheeky bastard. John kept his lips clamped shut as Sherlock continued to breath down onto his neck and rub him sinfully to attention. It felt blissfully good, but seemed so unfair. What's to be gained if I win?

Footsteps could be heard outside. Sherlock grabbed him and dragged him behind an old armoire that sat dusty and undisturbed in the corner. Mycroft eased the door open with the tip of his umbrella and Sherlock stifled a laugh himself at the fact that his brother was carrying it about with him on a game of hide and seek. He glanced in before exiting and could be heard descending the stairs.

While Sherlock was listening after his brother, John took the opportunity to swiftly slip his hand inside of Sherlock's trousers and take hold of him, catching him offguard. In a lightening flash John noted the parting of his lips, but no sound. Damn, he is good. He continued on anyway, confident that the closer he brought Sherlock to attention the more chance he could illicit a groan of some sort. Sherlock allowed him to stroke and tease him before he turned and kissed John once more, his erection now very apparent. Sounds could be heard out in the hallway, particularly Molly giggling and someone chasing after her. Sherlock took hold of his hand once more, edging them out into the hallway and down around the balcony of the third floor. He chose yet another room and pulled John inside. This happened to be a linen closet of grander size than what John had recently viewed.

Sherlock wasted no time dropping to the floor and pulling John free from his jeans, surprising John with his urgency. Sherlock took him fully into his warm, wet mouth, and John threw his head back with the pleasure of it. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to not utter some sort of an agreement to what was being done to him, but he was becoming ever so more interesting in winning this game of Sherlock's, if not only to aggravate his new lover. Sherlock had now wrapped a long fingered hand about the base of him and proceeded to stroke in perfect rhythm with his tongue, causing John to want to buck into the wonderful feeling, but his army side took over and he held his own.

Someone was approaching once more. John tensed. What if they look inside? Our secret will indeed be out. John glanced down as Sherlock met his eyes in a lightening flash. Sherlock sucked hard and John gritted his teeth to suppress a cry. The footsteps had stopped almost directly in front of the closet. Fuck this is exciting. Why is it so bloody- Even John's though process came to a fluttering halt as Sherlock sucked on him ferociously hard once again before stopping and popping up in front of him. Lightening flashed and Sherlock was grinning at him, with a rather impressed look upon his face.

They stood quietly in this way for agonizing minutes before the footsteps passed the linen closet and continued into a room not far down the hall. John waited before edging the door open, taking Sherlock's hand and pulling him down back towards the direction of the study. Mycroft came around a corner, illuminated by the flashes of lightening and John pulled Sherlock inside a bedroom just in time. He pushed Sherlock towards the bathroom. As they entered, the door could be heard squeaking open behind them. John didn't know which way to go, stuck in the bathroom, a dead end. Sherlock was a quicker thinker, pulling them into the shower and pulling the curtain closed. John turned, glancing from behind Sherlock's long frame to view Mycroft's silhouette in the flashes of lightening through the curtain. John wrapped his arms about Sherlock, namely about his hips and very close to his still raging erection. He felt Sherlock stiffen as he did so. Ah, I've got you now you bugger. John couldn't help the smile that graced his lips.

He slid his other hand down the back of Sherlock's trousers, caressing Sherlock's buttocks and beginning to stroke him through his trousers with the other. Sherlock's breathing had intensified, and John knew he had him where he wanted him. Mycroft was searching the bedroom, just outside the doorway of the bathroom. He circled teasingly closer and closer to Sherlock's most private area and with a swift flick of a skillful finger, brushed the length of Sherlock's perineum. Sherlock moaned rather loudly, not able to contain himself and Mycroft turned quickly to search the bathroom. John withdrew his hands just in time for Mycroft to pull back the curtain with one swift hand and declare victory with a rather hilarious "Tag!" As he reached in and shoved his brother backwards, nearly knocking him over in the process.

John and Sherlock stepped out of the shower. "Already found Lestrade and Molly?" He asked as Mycroft twirled the umbrella, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh yes. Thought it'd be a good idea to hide in a linen closet. Lestrade has obviously had too much to drink, he felt right into her when I opened the door." John could only imagine in his head what that scene might have looked like. Lestrade and Molly cooped up in a closet together, Lestrade probably fumbling around with her giggling like a schoolgirl. He only hoped that Mycroft didn't have any feelings for her in that way, for the truth of the matter may show itself at some point and he hated the fact that Mycroft would still be all alone...

Wait, why would I care if Mycroft is lonely? I really must be buzzed. John figured and rubbed his head. They traveled back to the study, the designated safe spot, and the game continued.

The next night, after a rather boring dinner following the previous nights activities, Sherlock and John entered John's bedroom to relax for the evening. Sherlock picked up a paper and dove into it with all of his attention as he sat in the armchair facing the bed. John stood in front of him, not saying anything, awaiting Sherlock to finally notice him. Sherlock did in fact realize he was standing in front of him. "Let me guess." He dropped the paper to his lap and placed each hand on the arm rests. "This must be about your winning our little quiet game." John crossed his arms in front of him and cocked his head, a small smile playing upon his lips. "Alright then, what is it you want for winning?"

"Stand up." John simply stated. Sherlock didn't move, only studied John from head to toe, trying his best to deduce what he was up to.

"That's it?" Sherlock sighed, a bit bored. He was hoping for something more interesting instead of just a command. Hmmm...Sherlock stood. John moved him out of the way of the chair and sat, looking up at him. "What's your game, Dr. Watson?" Sherlock asked, trying harder to read him and coming up with nothing past his usual.

"Strip." John waved a hand up and down Sherlock, meaning for him to strip in front of him. Sherlock sighed. He unbutton his jacket and started on the buttons of his dress shirt. John tsk tsked him and Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "Slowly." John stated and watched with no give away upon his face. Sherlock slowed his progress, unbuttoning his dress shirt down past his pecks slowly until his happy trail was visible. John surprised him further by unbuttoning his jeans, taking himself in hand and stroking slowly. Sherlock's mouth parted with desire. John was already hard and watching Sherlock intently. Ah, perhaps you intend to have your way with me then. Sherlock felt his pulse race as he continued, removing his jacket and shirt and slowly unbuttoning his pants. John watched his hands do their work as they slipped of his trousers and he stepped out of his shoes and socks as quickly as possible as not to seem too awkward.

He went to remove the black boxer briefs that covered the last bit of him and John raised his free hand. "Leave those on." Sherlock obliged, standing rather anxiously in front of John in nothing but his underwear, allowing John to look him over as he stroked his cock and nearly panted.

"What would you have me do?" He asked when John said nothing. John raised his eyes to meet his lover's and smiled.

"I mean to have you begging for mercy, much like Irene Adler once offered." John answered. Sherlock smiled but laughed.

"As I told her, I've never begged for anything in my life." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, hands upon his hips as they peaked out of the tight briefs.

"Pleasure yourself." John demanded as he continued to stroke. He was building his own anticipation as well, and guaranteed he would have his detective begging within minutes.

Right to it then. Sherlock slid his hand inside his underwear but was stopped once more. "Outside only." John grinned devilishly. Sherlock complied, rubbing himself on the outside of his underwear, feeling somewhat vulnerable and silly. He hardened as he watched John sigh with desire and lust at the view. He was allowed to continue this way for a few moments before John said "Take them off and continue." Sherlock spared no time removing the briefs, springing free from their confines and taking hold of himself and stroking himself with a moan. This was actually very arousing, he noted. Watching John take him in and pleasure himself at the sight of him.

John suddenly stood, removing his clothing as Sherlock continued. "On the bed. All fours. Ass in the air." John demanded. Sherlock moved to the bed and assumed the given position. "Higher." John said and he obliged. He was nearly panting now, erection hard and raging. He longed now to be able to touch it, though as he made to John slapped him hard on the ass and he cried out in surprise. "No, no. You do what I say." John answered from behind him. He put his hand back down, the longing in his groin more urgent now with the mixture of his spanking. John caressed his ass, laying kisses here and there, before wetting a finger and rubbing it across his perineum and opening. Sherlock arched his back. It felt so fucking good, he wanted more and now. He needed John now. John said nothing, but reached between his legs and took hold of him to stroke and tease his cock as he did so. Sherlock moaned and groaned, not wanting to give in, but knowing his need was growing painfully.

"Move over." John commanded. Sherlock complied, and watched as naked John laid on the bed and put his hands about his head. "69." Sherlock was quiet. He had never heard this expression before and didn't understand what he was meant to do. John seemed to notice this. "Ass over here, and go down on me." John pointed as he explained. Oh. Sherlock could barely contain himself. He positioned himself as instructed and took John into his mouth, sucking him off and teasing him here and there. John was moaning now, so as to let Sherlock now he was doing something fantastic with that mouth that so often shot off everything that ran through that genius brain of his. Sherlock was met with a pleasurable response as well as John began to nip at the sensitive skin of Sherlock's thights and lick agonizingly along his balls and his opening. He moaned John's name loudly, along with "Fuck..." and various other indecipherable phrases as he was pleasuring John as well.

The sensation was becoming too much. He ached for John to take him. Every fiber of his being wanted him. "Please, John..." He started and John responsed with a particularly vicious nip to his high inner thigh which radiated through Sherlock with pleasure. "I'm begging you..."

"I knew you'd be begging. I told you." John was smiling, Sherlock could tell, and he nipped again. Sherlock was quickly losing his wits. He reached once more for his cock and John took hold and squeezed his hardness, feeling it throb with want and heat.

"I am begging...gods..." Sherlock was moaning as John teased him. John was ready, more than ready, but he wanted to prove his point and his power over his consulting detective. "Fuck, John, I can't take it any longer..." Sherlock feared he would come before he was even consumed by his lover, and he wanted nothing more than for John to take control and fill him up.

John sensed the urgency in Sherlock's voice, and quickly moved position. "Grab the headboard." He instructed Sherlock, who quickly did as he was asked. John positioned himself behind him and entered rather unceremoniously. Sherlock cried out loudly, relishing the feeling of being completely and utterly filled with the glory that was John Watson. John took hold of him, stroking in even rhythm with his own thrusts. "One. Last. Thing. Sherlock." John grunted as he moved inside him. "You. Come. When I do." John began to slam into him relentlessly, one hand placed flatly upon Sherlock's beautiful flawless back as he grabbed Sherlock's cock firmly and pumped away. The sensation was brutal and the fire aflame within his lower belly was flaring out of control, building to an ecstatic finish. He hung on to reality as long as he possibly could, as John took hold of his halo of dark curls and pulled Sherlock's hips into his pelvis in one last assault. The two came together, spilling themselves across the bed as they finished.

"My gods..." Sherlock barely made sense as he panted, struggling to regain himself and catch his breath. John lay on his back beside him, chest heaving as well, with a smile upon his lips. "That was bloody fucking-"

"Brilliant, yes." John pulled him in by his curls once more and kissed him deeply. "You should lose to me more often."

"Brilliantly won, Dr. Watson." Sherlock noted and fell back upon the bed. His head was swimming, the room was spinning, and his heart was swelling with happiness and contentment. If only every moment could be as glorious as this.

The two were so wrapped up in their afterglow that they failed to notice Moriarty's phone, ever in Sherlock's presence, ringing silently on the bedside table.


	27. Chapter 27

Sherlock sat in the armchair, gazing out at the moon in between sips of his tea and glancing at the laptop that sat in front of him. He had been awake for a while, finding it rather difficult this night to sleep, too many things on his mind. Newly felt emotions, new information, the rather surprisingly exciting domination by John Watson, who lay snoring in the bed beyond. He glanced up at his companion as he slept, naked but for the sheet that draped lazily across his backside. Normally Sherlock had no problems falling asleep within his arms, but tonight proved difficult.

He leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands once more under his chin as he gazed across John's peaceful slumber. I've trained myself so well to keep sentiment and emotion out of everything. Until him. Until all of this. I've changed. Is it for the better? Sherlock had considered more and more as of late if what they were doing was in John's best interest. They were not an outed couple yet, and he wondered if it would change John once the secret was loose. John is the standy by your man kind of guy. He wouldn't change his position just because people talk...

Now that he thought about it, John had shown more caring and emotion towards him since they had met 18 months before. Sherlock was too caught up in everything else to realize it. He was always making comments about people talking. Sherlock faintly remembered commenting "They do little else." whilst scratching his head with a loaded gun in the darkened swimming pool. That had been a terrifying ordeal. Nothing had ever caused every muscle to tighten, his breathing to cease function, or terror to flood him as seeing John in the loaded vest that evening.

Which brought him back to now. Moriarty surely knew. The Frog Prince card that had been entitled to John was directed at him, he knew it. How better to burn the heart out of me than to take what I cherish most? Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. He prayed it never came down to that. It was one thing to fake your death and allow John to suffer. It was another to have his life in the hands of a mad man and be fearful you might not be able to save him. Sherlock physically shuddered at the thought. He knew not where Moriarty was going with all of this, or what he was planning...but he intended to have the upper hand. To keep him safe. To keep THEM safe.

On that note, Sherlock dipped into his dressing gown pocket and produced the phone he had grown so accustomed to carrying with him. The one connection he had to his opposite. Earlier, as he had risen from the bed, slowly as not to bother his sleeping lover, he had taken hold of the phone and noted a missed call from a blocked number. No way to tell who had called, and Sherlock wasn't quite sure if Moriarty had been the only one to call the phone. It rather aggravated him to think he might have missed something, but surely if Moriarty was going to make a point, he would call back.

Sherlock placed the phone beside the laptop and continued to read through fairy tales. Moriarty seemed to have continued after his 'death' with his fairy tale theme, and perhaps therein lay the answer. He scanned over different variations of the Frog Prince and Humpty Dumpty, to no avail. Nothing was jumping out at him and he was becoming increasingly frustrated. He shouldn't have allowed himself to become so distracted lately, although the distractions were blindingly erotic and pleasurable to endure. He grinned as he remembered some particularly enticing distractions he wouldn't mind repeating if time allowed.

He typed "Richard Brook" into the search engine on the laptop and scanned through. Must be something here. Has to be. This information is all faked anyway. He searched through records, newspaper rants, the like, just as that stupid nitwit of a reporter had shown them when they were in her apartment. If Molly can fake my death and make it look believable, surely he can fake being someone he isn't. Sherlock continued. How he faked the death is the real question. A real miracle that.

Sherlock was scanning over a children's website devoted to a popular children show character this 'Richard Brook' played when he noticed it. A slight glitch in the screen at the top right corner. It flickered slightly on occasion, but it was most definitely there. Sherlock's brain went to work and he started to attempt a hack on the site. It was successful. A keycode blank popped up on the screen. A password? Well of course, a password. Sherlock clapped his hands together and instantly glanced in John's direction. The army doctor hadn't budged. Sherlock made a few passes at the password, all of which were incorrect. His brain began to race with possible combinations. He tried his best to deduce Moriarty's character as he had the general in Baskerville, but was unable to come up with much. How is it I can read everyone else like a bloody open book, but when it comes down to the details of importance such as this I draw a blank? I've lost my touch. Sherlock was enfuriated. He would not defeated by Moriarty over a password.

The phone began to vibrate and buzz across the table. Sherlock froze, looking at it with growing contempt as well as adrenaline spiked anxiety. He reached slowly over and answered it, holding it up to his ear and listening. "Hello there, Frog Prince." Moriarty's usual tone floated ethereally over the phone speaker. Sherlock found his throat dry.

"Moriarty. Have we been playing phone tag?" Sherlock answered in his most sarcastic tone. He sat back in the chair, the nervousness spreading to his limbs. He grasped the arm of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white in the moonlight to still the shaking that was trying to consume him.

"Ah, yes. I'm sure you were busy. Hot on my trail I assume." Moriarty answered, mocking as ever. "Got any leads? Hard to trace anything back to a dead man I'm afraid."

"Hardly. Especially if Richard Brook is alive and well." Sherlock answered, gaining some confidence. He was staring at the password box and its intermittent flashing prompt, staring through it, attempting to take in every syllable of this conversation and store it away for later.

"Well, one of us is. If you can guess which is which." The voice was filled with amusement. "I think you've missed a rather obvious clue." Sherlock cocked his head to the side.

"As a matter of fact, you left a rather obvious clue on your Scotland Yard delivery." Sherlock picked up the card, which had been lying close by the laptop and view it as he spoke. Moriarty laughed, mockingly. Sherlock frowned.

"Ah, and I suppose you've already run a trace on the print?" The voice had dropped, low and menacingly, tension being felt on the other line. Ah, so you did mess up, Moriarty. Sherlock felt a bit more at ease. At least he was on the right trail.

"Well, my friend. I admire you for your rather death defying escape. I give you a standing ovation for that one. Although I fear I may have to take it upon myself to finish the job since you did in fact void our agreement." Moriarty sounded a little less amused and a little more feral on the other end of the phone.

"We never had an agreement. And if we did, you broke suit first by putting a gun in your mouth." Sherlock grumbled. "I'm waiting for your narcissism to take over so you can explain to me how you pulled that one off." Sherlock was indeed anxious to hear this story, although he doubted Moriarty would give him the satisfaction.

"Ah, Sherlock. Therein lies the obvious clue." Moriarty sighed, as though he was disappointed. "I thought ordinary Sherlock was over and done with. I was mistaken." His cadence had lifted from dark and demonic to bored. "I don't like getting my hands dirty, Sherlock. Although this time I'll be more than happy to bloody them myself if I have to finish our story."

"Ah yes. You are the good old fashion villain. You must play your part." Sherlock's throat was dry once more. He wasn't drawing much from this conversation. Perhaps John could help him after it was finished.

"Perhaps I'll start with your live in pet. Good man, that one. So adorable. It was rather easy to get hold of him the first time. Perhaps we can give your big brother's security system a good workout and see if it's as easy this go around?" Moriarty teased. Sherlock felt his chest tighten. "Don't think I don't know how to get in. The graffiti was just the start, Sherlock. I've got much more in store for you and your little crumpet. Tell me, do you fuck him just because you can, or is there a certain emotion attached to our John Watson?" Sherlock felt the bile rise in his throat, his blood pressure rise, his pulse race, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention at the mere mention of John. He wanted nothing more than to take hold of Moriarty by his neck and strangle him to death with his bare hands. If not something more slow and painful. He wanted Moriarty to feel excruciating pain until the end. "John's kissed a lot of frogs in his life, Sherlock, but it seems your the one who turned into a prince. Refer back to the Grimm version though, if you would, as the frog ends up being killed in the end."

"I'll have you, Moriarty. Before you can place another loaded gun on that poisoned tongue of yours. I am not an angel, as I've stated before, and if you lay a single finger upon any of my friends, I will not spare you." Sherlock spat into the phone, his words acidic and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Moriarty laughed, that laugh that came from deep within and twisted into a high pitched squeal of nails on chalkboard proportions and cut off as quickly as he had begun. "I'm feeling rather generous tonight, Sherlock, as you never fail to entertain me. I've already given you one clue. I'll give you one more." Sherlock crinkled his brow. Already given me one clue? "Run, run, as fast as you can. You'll never catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!" Moriarty laughed once more into the phone and the line went dead. Sherlock sat, with the phone still plastered to his ear for a few minutes more before laying it down. The Gingerbread Man? Of course. Sherlock's memory flashed to the gingerbread man he had received in 221B Bakerstreet right before he was arrested. Burnt to a crisp. Sherlock stood and began pacing. But what was the other clue? Moriarty could have been lying, easy as that, but Sherlock didn't think so. He liked riddles and playing these little games with Sherlock too much to just throw out a random clue that didn't exist.

He sipped down his tea and stood at the foot of the bed, staring at John as he slept. He threatened John. He threatens to burn me by harming John. A new resolve was forming deep within Sherlock as he considered this. I'll get to him first. I'll figure him out before he can get to any of us and I'll make him suffer.

Sherlock suddenly felt the need to be as close to John as he possibly could get at the moment. He stripped off his dressing gown and bottoms and climbed under the sheet behind John, wrapping his arms about him as he spooned, entwining his legs with John's. John adjusted accordingly, moaning a happy noise from deep within his chest at the feel of Sherlock pressed up against him. Sherlock hugged him close. He knew he would not sleep tonight, but he felt a little relief being wrapped up in this way with John. He had to protect John at any and all costs. He would not have him taken from him by none other than his infatuated consulting criminal. He laid a few loving kisses onto the back of John's neck and shoulder, the bite mark from the other night still faintly bruised and visible. He kissed it lovingly as well.

The two were awoken not long after dawn by a pounding upon the door. They rolled over sleepily, rubbing their eyes, adjusting to the brightness of day seeping in through the window. John glanced momentarily behind him, noticing the apparent morning erection Sherlock had that had been pressing against his backside for most of the morning. John had hoped to do something about that before the ruckus had begun.

"Up up!" Mycroft's voice could be heard outside the door. Sherlock stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Mycroft burst in just as John had covered himself and he stared up at the bewildered older brother confused.

"What is it?" John was still attempting to orient himself. Mycroft, of course, was already dressed to the nines as he usually was, umbrella in hand. Is that what he was beating on the bloody door with?

Another message from the friendly neighborhood Moriarty, I suppose." Mycroft stated. John smiled. Mycroft returned it.

"Good, that was very good." John stood and Mycroft turned to allow him privacy to apply his bottoms. "May I ask exactly what it is this time?"

"A dead fox. With a burnt gingerbread man stuffed in its mouth. I don't exactly understand the meaning of it, but perhaps my dear brother will. I'll meet you downstairs, as I have yet to locate him." Mycroft nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him. The seriousness of the situation overtook him as Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, with a sullen expression upon his face.

"That have any significant symbolism to you?" John inquired as he grabbed some clothing from the closet and made haste to dress.

"Yes." was all Sherlock could manage. He took hold of John's upturned face as he finished applying his jumper and kissed him long and deep, his tongue exploring and roiling about with John's. His erection was still apparent, but concealable. John reached down and brushed it, causing Sherlock to sigh into his mouth. John broke away first, a smile gracing those soft lips.

"We shall have to deal with this later, considering I missed out on the all too exciting morning sex thanks to the Mycroft wake up call." John quipped and patted Sherlock on the back. Sherlock straightened, his face a bit softer. "Ready?" John started towards the door. Sherlock followed a little closer than normal behind him, a sickening anxiety creeping up his spine at the thought of losing sight of his doctor.


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock circled the table, magnifying glass in hand observing the gift left outside the front gate. The fox was a magnificent specimen, a sad thing to see it dead, all white fur and fiery orange fluff. Inside its jowls was a black burnt gingerbread man. Sherlock pried it out of the stiffened jaws of the fox with a rubber gloved hand and set it aside on the table. No prints, no fibers, no evidence. He sighed. He hated when he found nothing to go on. Except for the metaphor. The metaphor was easy for him to guess, and not just because of his nighttime conversation with his nemesis.

John, Molly, and Mycroft stood about the table as well, watching the detective as he worked. "I'm not quite getting this one." Molly noted, her arms wrapped about her in a protective stance. Mycroft stood close to her, a frown gracing his tired face as he stared off into relative space.

"Leading up to Sherlock's confrontation on the rooftop with Moriarty, he was sending him fairy tales. Hansel and Gretel with the boy and girl from the private school, breadcrumbs on our doorstep, the book in the toybox." John explained. "The last was a burnt gingerbread man." If you don't stop prying. Sherlock could hear that strangely strained voice echo within his head. I'll burn you. He glanced at John as he came around to Sherlock's side and examined the fox closer. I'll burn the heart out of you. Sherlock's mouth went dry once more, but he did well not to let on his inner feelings. Instead he relished the closeness of the army doctor as he leaned in for a better look.

"But why the fox?" Molly asked. She didn't want to go near the table, fearing the bad omen might have more in store for them than just the message intended.

"Surely you've heard the tale of the Gingerbread Man, Molly?" Mycroft started, leaning intently on his umbrella. Molly glanced up at him. "Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man." Mycroft chanted. Sherlock's blood ran cold momentarily and he swallowed hard. He hoped John hadn't noticed. "In the story, the Gingerbread Man leads everyone on a merry chase, before being tricked by a fox in crossing a river and instead is devoured by it." Mycroft finished.

"Oh." Was all Molly could reply. The room went quiet for a moment.

"So, we need to figure out who or what the fox is." John stated simply with a nod of his head.

"Precisely." Sherlock agreed, putting away his magnifying glass. He motioned to the guards within the room to dispose of the body, and they stepped up to do so as he pulled off the gloves.

"Well, its got to be Moriarty, right?" Molly asked shyly and naively. John shrugged. Mycroft said nothing, deep in contemplation. Sherlock pondered.

"Perhaps. That is the most obvious choice." Sherlock took in a deep breath. This conundrum was baffling. He understood the metaphor, but who or what it referred to was a mystery to him. He was truly baffled. A woman peeked inside the room after knocking, signalling to the group that lunch was served. They each looked to each other. "Mycroft, a word." Sherlock placed his hands behind his back and walked over to the bookcase, studying it for a distraction. Mycroft stayed behind, as John led Molly out the door with a hand to the small of her back.

After the door had closed, Mycroft questioned Sherlock. "Is there something more?"

"Yes. I received another call last night. He spoke of the Gingerbread Man and taking his revenge. He could be coming for any of us, Mycroft. I suspect you may need to batten down the hatches." Sherlock met his eyes and a mutual agreement was exchanged between them.

"I'll double up on security. I'd advise you and the others stay within the confines of the house in any event." Mycroft nodded to him, most seriously. No poking or prodding or sarcasm could be hinted in his demeanor or voice.

"Perhaps we should arm ourselves. I fear Lestrade may very well be a target still as well." Sherlock noted.

"I'll contact him immediately and let him know what's going on. I'm sure he will take the necessary precautions." Mycroft seemed to have all of the bases covered. Sherlock merely nodded and headed out to join the others in the dining room. Mycroft breathed deeply to steady his nerves and made the necessary phone calls.

Sherlock retired to his bedroom late that evening, with much discussion of their current situation taking the group into the wee hours of the night. Lestrade had made it to the estate after his shift, putting in for a short holiday so as to be able to remain with them during the next few days if the need arose for him to be witness. Sherlock was relieved to see his aquaintance at the estate, by the invitation to stay by Mycroft extended and welcomed. Molly seemed in especially good spirits seeing him there. This irked Sherlock momentarily, although he couldn't quite place what emotion was tied to this alien feeling.

John had stayed close, as he had wanted, perhaps sensing that Sherlock was filled with uneasiness and wanting to make it less. He would pass by and brush an arm there, a hip there. Sherlock could not help but smile at these tiny moments of closeness that only they were privy too.

At the moment, John was in the shower. He had asked Sherlock to join him, but the detective found a rather dampening effect take hold of his soul and he left John to his own. At least he was in the room, and Sherlock knew there were no windows or ways into the bathroom that he claimed as his own. He had decided to retire to the bed and did so dressed only in royal blue boxer briefs, as the night had turned a bit warmer than usual. Either that or his blood was running hotter these days than it should. He lay under the sheet, staring at the ceiling, trying to deduce his rival's next move, finding it difficult to concentrate and dismissing thoughts the best he could. He slowed his breathing, something he had taught himself to do in a stressful situation, and found his blood pressure dropping, his pulse slowing, the room fading, as he began to drift off to sleep.

He knew not how long he had been in this passive state before a warm, velvety hand touched his calf and slid slowly up his thigh beneath the sheet. He caught his breath, opening his eyes to view a freshly showered John Watson kneeling on the edge of the bed near his feet, naked. Gods... Sherlock could not contain his surprise nor the flame of desire that flared through him at the sight of it. "I know that you've had a lot on your mind lately." John spoke, softly and in low tone. His hand continued its path up, brushing his inner thigh with first his fingertips and then his palm, so close and yet teasing. Sherlock noted that if his blood wasn't hot before, it certainly was now. "Just lay back." John instructed, his hand flittering up Sherlock's crease where thigh meets groin, and onto his hip.

John lifted the sheet, disappearing beneath it, but smooth lips could be felt pressing to and caressing his other calf. His nerves were alive with electricity, connecting to the sweet spot in his groin. He began to grow hard at the sensation. Not being able to see John, he laid back upon the pillows and closed his eyes. The feeling was exquisite. Kisses, caresses, and warm, wet licks traveled up his legs, slowly, building his anticipation and the heat uncoiling itself deep within him.

John was so close now. Sherlock could not tell if it had been seconds or minutes that had passed. For all he knew time had stopped. There was nothing but his doctor and him in this moment upon the bed. John nipped slightly at the sensitive skin on Sherlock's inner thighs and Sherlock felt his hips rise to meet John's mouth. John held him at bay with his strong hands upon his hips and Sherlock was quickly coming undone. John finally reached the apex of Sherlock's thighs and licked longingly up his shaft and around the head of him, extracting a pleasurable gasp from his parted lips. John continued in this way, finding a rhythm before fully taking him into his mouth and sucking. The warmth, the moistness of him, the way he swirled his tongue and flicked upon all the right places had Sherlock panting. He thrust his fingers into John's soft hair and took hold, needing something in this reality to anchor to. His back arched, his head went back upon the pillow and he wallowed in the ecstasy that was John Watson's clever mouth as he took him in, deeper and deeper, nearing the back of John's throat and knowing that this was in fact what was happening.

"John- I- Pull away..." Sherlock begged, but John held onto his hips and thrust them forwards so that Sherlock's throbbing cock hit the back of his throat. He swallowed and sucked and Sherlock was undone. He came and could not suppress the cry as he did so. He could care less if the entire estate heard him. Seconds later he relaxed, letting go of John's sandy hair and lifting the sheet to view his doctor grinning coy. "I am truly at a loss for words, Dr. Watson." Sherlock breathed. John said nothing but sat upright, his own erection brushing up against Sherlock's calf. Roiling in the aftershock of his orgasm, he felt his cock twitch in response.

"Such an eager lad, you are." John laughed, a sound which never failed to melt his sometimes icy exterior. He stood, grabbing his underwear from the armchair and applying them, although they did little to cover his excitement. "I'll tell you what. You lay there and recover a bit, I'm going to pop down and perhaps pinch a bottle of Mycroft's best from the study and you can return the favor if you like." Oh, I'd very much like that. Sherlock's though processes were returning. He grinned like a lovesick fool at him.

"I'm sure I can rise to the occasion." Sherlock quipped, causing the army doctor to shake his head and laugh once more before exiting the room. Sherlock laid back upon the pillow, hand across his groin as he relaxed.

Sherlock allowed his mind to wander. To remember John Watson in his briefs with his cock hard and ready. Kneeling at the end of the bed, naked and wanting to please. Sherlock's cock twitched once more. No harm in preparing oneself I suppose. Sherlock justified himself and began to stroke himself through the sheet. It felt right, not too much attention being paid. He didn't want to get too worked up before John returned. More reminiscence followed as he rubbed harder, creating a bit more friction. John in the bathtub as Sherlock entered him. John in their frantic kiss when he first discovered his friend was alive. John with all of his army muscle and impressive girth. And the feeling of that girth within Sherlock, filling him up.

Sherlock was fully hard now and he quickly slid his hand underneath the covers and within his briefs, pulling himself free and stroking himself firmly. Fuck, this is exciting. Sherlock made to completely lose himself in his thoughts and his lust once more when the door opened and shut with a frantic click. Sherlock continued, hoping to allow John a little surprise viewing as he entered. He didn't even bother to open his eyes, only moaned out as the desire raged within him. The bed dipped and a hand clamped over Sherlock's mouth. Kinky fuckery indeed, John Watson. Sherlock's eyes flew open at the surprise of it all and he found Molly Hooper staring down at him.

What the bloody hell?! Sherlock's hand flew out of his briefs and grabbed the sheet that lay halfway across him at the moment in shock. "Molly?!" He could hardly contain his embarrassment at being found in such a way by Molly Hooper of all people. Even Mycroft Holmes he could have fended off with some smartass remark.

"Sherlock!" Molly whispered and seemed to take no notice, although it was doubtful she had not seen or heard what Sherlock had been up to. "Something's wrong!" Sherlock sat up, pulling the sheet about him still. She was quiet. Listening. "I heard something outside, the guards shouting or something and John sent me up here to warn you."

Dammit to fucking hell, John! Sherlock's mind flew into panic mode. John was downstairs somewhere and in order to either protect him or Molly Hooper, had sent her running up to his room to warn him. Endangering himself. Sherlock was in fight or flight. He only hoped John had access to a gun somewhere down below in the lower floors. "Where's Lestrade? Mycroft?"

"They're downstairs. I think John made to find them as well." Molly sat back and glanced off towards the window, as if fearful someone would be coming through it soon. Sherlock took a moment to look her over. She was dressed in a purple satin nightie, very unlike the Molly Hooper he thought he knew. Of course, ever since he had known her intimately, she seemed to be wearing more racier things lately. To impress me? His mind flew to other memories that also seemed to stir him in a physical way although he hadn't completely lost his erection even being caught. He did note that her nipples were standing at attention, perhaps from the excitement she had flown into the room in. Then again Lestrade has been coming around more often as well. That sour taste appeared mysteriously in his mouth again. Where is that coming from? I don't understand it. Sherlock ran his hands through his curly locks in order to shake away these confusing thoughts.

"What exactly did you hear them shouting. Could you make anything out?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not words. Just shouting. Out near the western wall." Molly whispered and practically leapt into Sherlock's lap as a male voice screamed out into the night. Sherlock's adrenaline coursed. He let the sheet fall, standing up and going towards the window. There were a few very faint noises and more yells. Yelling from one guard to another. "Fucking hell." Sherlock muttered.

"What? What is it?!" Molly knelt on the bed, fear flooding her pretty features. She had broken out into a cold sweat.

"Gunshots." Sherlock answered. He stepped to the nightstand, opening the drawer and producing his gun, checking its loading and cocking it. He then made to grab Molly and dragged her off the bed and onto the floor in one swift motion, covering her with his body as shots rang out through the window above them. The glass rained down upon them. Molly screamed, being unable to help it. When the shots ceased, he quickly got up, taking Molly with him and running out the bedroom door with her and down the stairs. More shots rang out throughout the mansion, echoing and ricocheting off of walls and various antiquities of Mycroft's.

He ran past a utility closet and shoved Molly inside with him. It was rather small, but served its purpose. No windows, and a washer and dryer to duck down behind. He shoved Molly into the tight space and followed her. They sat facing each other in this way, chests heaving, sweat pouring down them from the fear, Molly trying her best to hold herself together in her skimpy purple nightie. Nothing but faint shouting could be heard now.

Sherlock strained his hearing for any sound of Lestrade, Mycroft, John. Mainly John. You bastard, having to go down to the study at a time like this. He knew he could not be angry with John, as there was no way of knowing this was going to happen. He was truly fearful. He feared for his lover's life. He had vowed to keep him close through everything, and had allowed him to leave the room. If we live through this I'm going to be one paranoid bugger. He tried to take deep breaths, but the anxiety was creeping up his spine once more, pricking nerves here and there. He was shaking, as the firearm in his right hand showed as he held it up, ready to aim if need be.

More gunshots. Guards seemed closer now. Still nothing from his familiar three. Molly leaned her head back against the dryer and cried silently. Sherlock couldn't blame her. This was hardly a time to admonish her for being human. He waited, the anxiety and agony eating away at him. Molly attempted to make herself more comfortable, as she was becoming too shaky to remain squatting. She stretched her legs out about Sherlock's waist on either side and place her hands to either side to steady herself. Sherlock was momentarily distracted by this movement, feeling the silkiness of her legs brush his left arm that helped steady himself. He glanced at them, confused as to why his eyes were drawn to them, and up past the hem of her nightie to her face. She seemed to be taking better control of herself.

Shots rang out once more, this time intruding upon their hideaway but well above their heads. Molly screamed and covered her head, Sherlock only readied his weapon. The barrage was over in a matter of seconds. Sherlock waited for what seemed like an eternity before he heard the only voice he had hoped to hear scream out "Sherlock!" and fear gripped his heart anew.


	29. Chapter 29

Sherlock's ears were ringing from the battery of gunfire that resounded within Mycroft's mansion. Between this and Molly's terrified screams, Sherlock tried desperately to tune out so as not to go mad with terror or to prevent himself from dashing out of the utility closet and seeking out John. It was only when the dust was settling that he heard it above everything else: John's frantic call of "Sherlock!" that carried throughout the house from nearby.

Sherlock shot up from behind the metal utilities, disregarding Molly momentarily, and flew out of the door with weapon at the ready. He raced down the nearest flight of stairs and came round the corner on the ground floor to find Mycroft and Lestrade crouching behind an overturned loveseat in the great hall, both turned to stare wide eyed and wondering towards him. He must have been a sight to see, running about the estate in his blue boxer briefs and nothing else, gun drawn and at the ready. Lestrade only momentarily aimed at him as he rounded, not knowing who to expect. Sherlock edged into the room, glancing about and not seeing what he was searching for. "Where is John?" He demanded rather loudly, refusing to crouch as the other two men were.

"Sherlock!" He heard it once more, behind him and he turned to see John rushing into the hall from the kitchen area, gun expertly cocked at the ready, army training in use. Sherlock could not express the flood of relief that course through him, turning his muscles weak, and his legs to jelly. He leaned against the door frame to hold himself upright as John lowered the firearm and hurried into the living room, grabbing Sherlock by the arm on his way around the corner and dropping the man down behind an overturned and badly shot up table. "Thank gods." John sighed, struggling to catch his breath. Sherlock had to fight the overwhelming urge to pull the man to him in an embrace or better, a kiss, but the others were present and he couldn't.

"Where's Molly?" Lestrade questioned. Sherlock winced. He had rushed out and left her in the utility closet by herself and he felt ashamed. He popped back up, gun drawn and led the group up the stairs and to the closet. Lestrade rushed inside, rounding the washer and dryer and pulling a rather shell shocked Molly Hooper up off of the floor and into his arms. She had stopped crying, perhaps from the shock, and let herself be held. Lestrade glanced up at Sherlock, an unreadable expression upon his face. Mycroft's phone was ringing and he answered it, stepping out into the hallway as to better hear.

John stepped into the small room. "Is this where you were?" John asked as he looked Molly over. Pupils were reactive, respirations and pulse were elevated, but she responded to his touch and nodded her head when Lestrade asked if she was okay. Sherlock was observing outside the room, gun pointed, and nodded. John noted the many bullet holes within the walls at eye view. He turned, happy to know his decision to send Molly up to Sherlock's room was a wise one. He knew Sherlock would step into a protective role and take care of her. She was a friend, after all.

Mycroft appeared in the doorway once more. "It seems our attacker has vanished. It may be relatively safe to come out now." His phone was ringing once more, and a group of guards had entered the foyer below looking for them. He attended to them for a damage report. Lestrade took Molly up into his arms to carry her, and she willingly wrapped her arms about his neck in response and buried her face in his chest as he drew himself around her to protect her. John shooed Sherlock out of the entrance and they followed Lestrade to Molly's bedroom as it wasn't far from the utility closet. He laid her gently upon the bed and sat next to her, arms about her. They convened inside and John set to taking her vitals and checking her over. She leaned into Lestrade and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. Sherlock paced about, unable to concentrate, only knowing that he was more than relieved to know that his John had survived unscathed, and his blood was beginning to boil knowing that this was the work of none other than Moriarty. Unable to show himself like a coward, but he will shoot up an entire house to get at what he wants. Sherlock was scratching the back of his head with the loaded gun once more. This gesture always made John nervous, although he knew the detective was trained well with the gun.

Lestrade was glaring at Sherlock. "How could you just leave her there in the closet, Sherlock?" He asked. Sherlock only glanced at him, his brain in overload, too much to take in. He only wanted to embrace John and the denial of this was eating away at him. Perhaps John sensed it, as he hung close to him without actually touching him in anyway. "And why are you running around in your skivvies around a lady?"

"In all fairness, Detective Inspector, I was as well until I heard the shots." John stated. That's correct. Sherlock looked John over, standing next to him with gun in hand in sweats and a t shirt a size too big for him. "I had to swipe these from the utility closet on my way down the stairs.

Lestrade seemed disgruntled but somewhat satisfied with this explanation. "Well, alright then." He turned back to Molly, his arm protectively about her shoulders. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yes, Greg, I am." Molly was coming around, more like herself. John placed a blanket about her shoulders, as she was dressed in the nightie without a robe and she pulled it tight about her to conceal herself. She glanced at Sherlock, a sort of longing that could be viewed if one was searching for it in her eyes, but she glanced away as she noted he was not focused on her but staring intently at John.

Mycroft approached. "I think you'd all better come down and take a look at the damage." He leaned rather heavily upon his umbrella this time, although it looked out of place among his matching set of pajamas he wore.

Down in the foyer, the guards had lain out eleven bodies of former security personnel. John sighed sadly. Lestrade circled round. Sherlock, finally covered in his blue dressing gown, approached the corpses with rubber gloves and his magnifying glass. He observed the bodies. Small bullet, expertly shot through areas that would cause them to bleed out quickly, but painfully. Carotid, femoral, arterial shots namely. What the bloody hell- Sherlock observed similar gunshot wounds to each of the bodies. Whoever this was is expertly train and sadistic. "One of Moriarty's assassins, no doubt."

"If he's such a damned good shot, why didn't he just storm the grounds instead of shooting from outside the gates?" John asked, rather irate. He hated the lose of life, although he also thrived on it as he had in the war. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. He remembered Mycroft's words from a year and a half ago ringing true within his mind.

"This was just a salutation." Sherlock stripped off the gloves and threw them down, clearly upset. "A little hello how are you. See what I can do?"

"Has a full search been conducted?" Lestrade asked Mycroft, who nodded as he leaned.

"The assault came from the western end of the property. The men who made it out there after the attack found no signs other than empty casings. He is most definitely good at what he does." Mycroft sighed. "It seems we will have to involve the British government more thoroughly. I've put out the call. We may have to relocate, considering the condition of my estate." Mycroft looked somewhat saddened, tired, of all that was transpiring. Their world seemed to be under constant attack. "Reinforcements are on their way."

I suggest we stay close rest of the night." Lestrade noted, eyes on Molly at all times. "Reinforcements or not I'd rather not risk anything." He moved slightly, to allow Molly to lay down, and covered her with her blanket. He pulled the chair close to sit next to her.

"Fair enough. I need to retrieve a few things if we're going to be having a sleepover." Sherlock stated rather sarcastically. "John." He took John by the arm and led him out of the bedroom and up to his room. John kept gun cocked as they entered. Sherlock slammed the door shut behind them and pushed the gun out of the way as he slammed John up against the wall in a passionate kiss. He poured himself into him, wanting him, needing him more so in this moment than at any other. John, at first somewhat surprised by Sherlock's passionate attack, joined him in the kiss, exploring Sherlock's mouth entirely.

"I was worried-" John started as he came up for air. Sherlock allowed him a second before consuming him once more.

"Gods, John." Sherlock's voice was deep an illustrious as always, but shakey and nearly wracked with sobs. "I thought you were- dead." The word was so hard to spit out, as if the mention of it would curse them and make it true.

"For fuck sake, Sherlock." John embraced him tightly, holding the nearly sobbing detective close. "I won't do it anymore. From now on, where you go I go. You're nearly a wreck." John stroked his dark curly locks lovingly as Sherlock regained his composure. He kissed John once more before they parted. He took of about the room taking his laptop and Moriarty's phone and sticking it into his pocket. "So much for returning the favor." Sherlock tried for a grin and found it hard to do even when staring into the face of his beloved army doctor.

"There will be plenty of time for that, at the moment perhaps we can settle for being happy that we're alive and unharmed." John pulled him in once more into his arms, wanting never to let the man go again. Too much stress placed upon his companion, he feared Sherlock would break sooner or later from the strain. He couldn't allow Sherlock to have to worry after his well being as well.

Mycroft was halfway up the stairs after them when the two emerged from the bedroom. "I'd worried you'd gone missing." Mycroft stated and started back down. "Perhaps I might as well join you all tonight in case there are any more surprises." He gave a weary smirk and entered the room. He had been kind enough to have staff bring up many extra blankets and pillows as well as a few air mattresses so as to make the night a bit more bearable. "After all, we cannot all cram ourselves into bed with Molly." Mycroft motioned to where Lestrade had already passed out on the bed with Molly fast asleep on his chest. Sherlock felt that strange pang once more, although he quickly dismissed it when he glanced at John as he made his way about the room.

"I'll be glad to give you the other mattress, Mycroft, as you've been so gracious." Sherlock and I can manage on one, if he doesn't object." John nudged Sherlock as in play along.

"It'll do." Sherlock groaned sarcastically before setting down to pop open his laptop. John nodded at Mycroft and sat down in the nearby armchair for a spell, or merely to catch his breath.

No sooner had Sherlock pulled up the website of Richard Brook, child actor, then the old familiar tune "Staying Alive" began its haunting ring from the inside of Sherlock's blue dressing gown pocket.


	30. Chapter 30

Sherlock stretched and yawned in the king sized bed underneath the black egyptian sheets. He swung his feet out and set them firmly upon the cold almost glass like floor and ran his hands through his curls, trying to wake up. He didn't think he had slept so good as this in the last few days. He took note of the black phone sitting in its place upon the desk across the small room and frowned as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He clicked on the lamp and squinted. He grabbed for his dressing gown as it hung on the arm of the nearby chair and applied it as he stood. He padded over to the desk and simply stared at the phone. He almost feared it would begin to ring as his burning gaze observed every detail of its design.

He sucked in a deep breath of air and sighed. He turned and looked over his shoulder, noting the absence of another warm body within his room. His shoulders visibly slumped at the realization that he was all alone in here. Easily fixed. You're not a bird in a cage. Sherlock reminded himself and felt some of the sullenness dissipate. He glanced back at the phone and considered it for a moment, daydreaming away to the previous night. The night in which, as they sat in Molly's bedroom, said phone began to ring. The song causing icy hands of terror to grip their hearts as it played.

Sherlock had simply answered, no "Hello." or "Piss off." Just answered it and held it shakingly to his ear. The voice on the other end was as jolly and pleased as ever. "Well, Sherlock, my friend. I see you've met The Fox." Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise.

"Your pet I presume. Finally got a 'live in one' as you kept going on about?" Sherlock nearly stuttered as he answered but he managed to keep his wit about him to retain his composure. John watched him intently, as did all of the others, but namely John regarded him with curiosity as he spoke.

"You could say that, although I couldn't use any cutesy words to describe him as you probably could John. He's rather fiesty." The voice which Sherlock could only describe to be Moriarty chittered.

"One of the three?" Sherlock questioned, in reference to one of the assassins whose gun had been trained on one of his friends.

"No, I'm afraid not. Nice try at trying to bridge the gap though." Moriarty sounded somewhat pleased at Sherlock's attempted to deduce over the phone. "I've done well to keep him under wraps for special circumstances. He's a very valued member of my ring though. He goes by many names, although I believe 'Basher' seems to be the most used. He can be very persuasive up close and personal." Sherlock sensed Moriarty was smiling on the other end of the phone.

"So, he is to be my undoing since you couldn't kill me by persuasion?" Sherlock noted. His eyes glanced about and met John's. He took noticed of the reassurance in John's gaze and regained more of his usual egotistical confidence.

"Well, there are bound to be a few dead bodies here and there. He takes pride in his job. Makes the heart swell with pride." Moriarty laughed and became stunningly quiet. "He will unravel your world and all you hold dear within it, Sherlock, tugging at the shredded threads to undo you at your seams." Moriarty's voice was lethal now. The change was mindboggling.

"There are many ways to trap a fox, Moriarty." Sherlock mirrored his ferocity of voice as he answered.

"We shall see, Mr. Holmes." Moriarty scoffed into the phone. "I'd watch your back." The line went dead instantly. Sherlock hung up his end of the phone and looked about the room, meeting Mycroft's gaze. "I think it would be safe to say we can no longer stay here."

Mycroft sighed, as he had settled into the armchair. He looked exhausted. He looks about as bad as the rest of us feel. John noted. "There is a place we can go to where I doubt anyone will be able to infiltrate us. I'll require the permission of higher personnel." He stood, pulling out his phone and dialing a number. He disappeared into the hallway as he spoke. John noted the guards lining the doorway as well as pilfering about the hallway. He really is the British government. Look at all that is at his beck and call. John did not think that Mycroft abused his privileges in his profession, but a lot could be said about the response he received when he called in reinforcements. Moments later he returned. "Right. We need to gather only what we need. Meet me in the foyer in ten minutes." He nodded at the group and left the room quickly. John shook Lestrade to wake him and he took to gathering Molly's things, as his were still in his overnight bag he had brought with him.

Sherlock gathered his laptop under his arm and stuck the phone in his dressing gown pocket. He gathered his things quickly, as did John, under the watchful eye of Mycroft's secret service. They met as ordered in the foyer with a group of guards armed to the teeth about them. Mycroft stepped forward with black hoods and handed them out. "What's this about?" Lestrade asked, his look uneasy.

"Where we are going, anyone with lower than alpha clearance are to be hooded. Honestly I'm supposed to deprive you of your hearing as well, but seeing the circumstances and need for discussion possibly on the ride over, I find that inadequate." Mycroft motioned to the group to put the hoods on. John and Sherlock met in a doubtful gaze before reluctantly placing the hoods on their heads. They were being lead out into the night with loads of security surrounding them.

Now Sherlock merely stared at the phone, thankful that he hadn't rung and flipped open the laptop to view Richard Brook's child show webpage. He clicked on the flickering glitch in the screen, once more producing the prompt. He stared at it once again. He had gone over countless possibilities and once more had been unable to come up with anything that worked as a password. He was so close, if he could only...

A knock came at the door and Sherlock glanced back to see John enter. He felt a little leap within his heart at the sight of him. He looked better, as if he'd gotten some well needed sleep. He would have preferred to be curled up next to him instead of in this cold grey room without even any sunlight, but to keep their cover he couldn't rightly do that every evening. Too many people would see and suspect and he couldn't let people talking get in the way of the issues at hand. John shut the door quietly behind him, locking it, as was becoming habit for the both of them, and made his way to Sherlock's side. "You're looking better."

"I'm feeling better." Sherlock spoke softly as met his eyes. He smiled genuinely and found it returned.

"Some place." John looked about the room. "My room's the same. Nice furnishings in a cement bunker shell." He sighed. Sherlock wondered if it brought back any memories for him being in the war. Of course, soldiers didn't normally have nicely furnished bunkers. Bunkers nonetheless. "At least no one can shoot us up here. Mycroft had the right idea." Sherlock nodded his agreement.

John circled about, not touching Sherlock, merely observing everything. He noticed the laptop and the prompt flashing on the screen. "What's this then?"

"A glitch in Moriarty's fake webpage. I've been trying to think of the password for a few days." He stopped there, not wanting to give away to John that he was thoroughly stumped. John stared at it and considered, one hand behind his back as he tilted the screen to see. Sherlock merely watched him. He liked watching him, and not in a stalkerish way. John was a good looking, kind hearted man that had awakened so many realizations in him recently. It was hard not to take him in at every opportunity.

John seemed to lose interest and circle back around, taking a seat on Sherlock's bed and tapping his hands on his lap, bored. Sherlock stiffened, his eyes wide. John sighed and caught sight of Sherlock's reaction. "What?"

"That can't possibly be it." Sherlock whispered, speaking to himself, deep in thought.

"What, Sherlock?" John leaned forward in curiosity. He always marveled at the fact that you could almost visibly see Sherlock's brain at work.

"The binary. The code. Those few little lines of computer code." Sherlock turned to the laptop and quickly typed in many 0's and 1's in a particular order and paused. Did he dare press enter? He feared he would fly into a frustrated rage if this wasn't it. It had to mean something. Moriarty wouldn't leave those little subtle hints if it didn't mean anything. Everything has to mean something. He said that it was only me who had to make everything clever, but he was being too clever this time. I know it! Sherlock's shaky finger hovered over the enter key, and then pressed it.

The screen went ominously black. Sherlock's heart was stuck in his throat. Then, the screen flashed a C:/ prompt. I've done it. I've hacked Moriarty himself. Sherlock screamed victory inside his head and turned to John.

John noted the change immediately. The air became electric between them. Sherlock was grinning, but it was the look of humor and something darker. It caused him to stir down below. Sherlock was approaching. "Brilliant, Dr. Watson. Absolutely fucking brilliant as always." He stood in front of John as John sat on the bed.

John only looked up at him from his seat. "I've done nothing, Sherlock. You're off your rocker."

"You've reminded me of the one thing that Moriarty gave me. He couldn't help himself and now that I've figured it out, I can ruin him." Sherlock leaned slowly down, hands on each side of John, his face inches away from John's. John shivered at the hot breath upon him. "We can end this, John. Actually end this."

"The look, Sherlock." John frowned. Sherlock's look softened slightly, as if he didn't understand. "The we both know what's going on here look. You know how I don't like it. I'm not as clever as you are." John huffed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly in exasperation. "In a world full of locked rooms the man with the key is king." He repeated Moriarty's words and found them slightly ironic. "The key code existed John. I've just used it to hack into Moriarty's mainframe. Everything is at my disposal." Sherlock smiled, his big victorious smile when he'd deduce something correctly or solved a particularly hard case. John couldn't help but grin as well.

"Bloody hell." John chuckled. Sherlock's eyes were on fire. They were burning with something much hotter than perhaps even the hottest fires of hell. Desire, lust, wanton need. "And now you want congratulatory snogging." John cocked an eyebrow.

"Congratulatory snogging? That's a new one." Sherlock smiled. "Congratulatory snogging is a good place to start." He put his hot lips to John's and kissed, chaste at first, but slowly they melted together and enjoyed one another in this way. As usual, Sherlock's skilled hands hand already found their way to John's groin and were softly stroking him through his pajamas to coax him into play. Sherlock climbed onto John as he sat, and pulled off his dressing gown and t-shirt so as to let his lean, taut stomach entice John at eye view.

"You were supposed to return the favor." John stated. Sherlock paused and looked at him. "But I suppose you deserve something for being so damned clever." John smiled wickedly up at him and pulled his pajama bottoms down to expose the already throbbing detective. He took Sherlock into his mouth without any warning or preparation, to the hilt. Sherlock threw back his head and hissed through gritted teeth at the sensation. "I'll definitely be getting something out of this as well, so its win win." He stated as he released Sherlock momentarily, and proceeded to take him in once again, sheathing his teeth with his lips and finding a slow, steady rhythm in pleasuring him.

Sherlock was nearly reeling from the sensation. He continued to stroke John, eventually slipping his hand inside his pajama bottoms and stroking him in rhythm to John's. John groaned, a wonderful vibration against Sherlock's cock that made him sigh. John continued to love him with his warm wet mouth, hands upon his hips to bring him in further, and then taking the saliva from his sucking onto his finger and exploring further back. As he circled Sherlock's opening, he moaned, knowing the feeling of tight heat wouldn't be long.

Sherlock was writhing against him as John prepared him, first with one finger, then slowly with another, fucking him with this fingers. Sherlock was bucking and moaning something indecipherable. John continued, his own cock throbbing painfully with need. He positioned himself underneath Sherlock, pressing tightly up against but not inside. Sherlock fought to impale himself up him, but only glanced down to meet his lover's eyes.

John took hold of Sherlock's cock in a tight, wet hand and allowed him to sink slowly onto him, filling him up with his erection. Sherlock moaned lustfully out at the feeling, wanting nothing more than this moment with John inside him. John allowed him to adjust, although it didn't take very long as Sherlock began to ride him, and he allowed it. He stroked Sherlock's hardness firmly but slowly, and trailed licks and kisses upon Sherlock's abdomen as he moved.

Sherlock knew he couldn't last long. It was overwhelming. The excitement, the feeling of John, the kisses, the grasp on his dick, all so much to take in and all feeling so damned good. He rode John harder, John's erection sliding against his sweet spot over and over again until he came and reeled within the stars that burst in his vision. "John!" He cried out and tried to regain his composure.

The call of his name was almost enough for John to join him seconds later, the tight heat that moved around him and the muscles that spasmed and took hold around his cock massaging him to orgasm. He dug his fingers into Sherlock's hip and squeezed his cock. They sat in this way for moments, Sherlock drawing John to his sweat slicked body in a loving postorgasmic embrace, John wrapping his strong arms about Sherlock's lower back and closing his eyes as he breathed the scent of him in.

Sherlock eventually moved, gingerly, as his legs had almost fallen asleep when they had decided to release each other. He stepped into the bathroom to clean up and John had readjusted as well. "So, next move is?" John questioned. He was staring at the laptop and the C:/ prompt that still flashed on the screen.

"Now, we call Mycroft's tech friends in and let them make sure there are no failsafes I need to navigate so that I can safely get into his web." Sherlock grinned coyly at John as he sat on the bed and ruffled his just fucked hair. "Then we take down the sodding bastard bit by bit." He winked at John, giving him a roil of butterflies within his stomach. Sherlock, back on the case. John laughed to himself. Sherlock sent for Mycroft at once.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock sat at his desk, pouring over the various photos and police reports that were splayed out upon the table, taking in every detail. Lestrade had done him the great courtesy of sending cases that needed reviewing and deducing to their current safehouse for Sherlock to busy his mind with.

John knocked and entered, shutting and locking the door behind him as was becoming habit. He never knew if him visiting Sherlock were to turn into something naughty or not, and would rather not be caught by anyone. Well, caught again anyway. He ventured over, touting the bag he had over his shoulder as he did so, and peeked over Sherlock's shoulder at the various paperwork before him. "Solved this one yet?" John quipped rhetorically.

"Mmm." Was all John got out of him. He didn't budge, obviously in the middle of a theory or deduction concerning what could be viewed in front of him. John sat in the armchair opposite the bed and merely watched him. He loved to watch Sherlock work. His eyes narrowed and busy taking everything in, his face a canvas nearly blank of any emotion, although there was a slight eyebrow raise or a twitch of his tightlipped mouth from time to time that was absolutely adorable. John would never admit this of course, because he was an army man and army men didn't refer to anything referring to another male as 'adorable'. Still, it was indescribably cute.

"I brought the items you requested, although I must say it raised a few eyebrows." John was smiling and his cheeks slightly reddened. "Honestly, when I showed Mycroft the list I feared he might faint." John leaned forward and handed the bag to Sherlock, who finally had broken his trance at the mention of said objects he had requested. "Honestly, even I don't want to know what you need them for."

Sherlock pulled John's eyes into an electric gaze. They were bright with good spirit and perhaps mischief as well. He pulled the first item from the bag, a vintage year of red wine and stood to gather two glass tumblers from their mini bar that also adorned every room. He set them both on the desk, popped open the bottle, and poured them both half full. He then handed one glass to John and motioned for him to drink up. "First, a toast." He raised his glass, his free arm behind his back as was his nature. "To infiltrating the Moriarty web of lies and deceit." He smiled a full on genuine smile at his companion and they both drank to it.

"Which reminds me. Lestrade phone about twenty minutes ago. They just found Baron Chocavey. He was rather startled, he put it. Thought for sure no one would be able to find his estate in Cardiff." John tipped his glass to it and drank once more. "That makes how many this week?"

"Seven." Sherlock smiled and downed the glass, setting in on the desk to refill it. He tipped the bottle to John, and he raised his glass for round two as well. "Although I must say, eight is my lucky number. I've texted him the address and details on the physician in Ireland. He'll have a hayday with that one I'm sure." Sherlock's eyes were bright with excitement and intrigue. John's heart leapt a little within the confines of his chest.

"Any more phone calls?" John asked, rather serious considering their lighthearted conversation. Sherlock glanced at the phone, which sat next to his laptop and rarely left his side.

"No, actually. I'm rather surprised. I'm sure he had his criminal hands full at the moment." Sherlock smirked. Gah, don't do that. It does things to me. John thought to himself and gulped down his mouthful of the wine. "Now, on to business." He downed his second glass of wine and turned to find the bag that he had sat in his seat as he rose from it. "I'll need you stand for me, John."

"Oh, okay." John rose and finished his glass and sat it on the desk next to Sherlock's. He observed Sherlock removing from the bag clear plastic zip ties, and a lady's silk handkerchief. John stood wondering.

"As you know, the lady stated that she was bound and gagged at the time the crime occurred and could not struggle free of her restraints." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"I see." John nodded to Sherlock, knowing his intention. Sherlock often used him to test his theories and alibis of those whom he studied in cases. He had thoroughly trained himself on how to release himself from zip ties so this did not phase him. He was pleased to be of assistance to his consulting detective. "Have at it then."

"I fully intend to." Sherlock gave him his wicked grin before applying the zip ties to his wrists and binding them tightly. He stood back and admired his work, John watching him intently. "She was bound exactly so...and then her lover manhandled her onto the bed..." Sherlock was lost in thought again. John furrowed his brow.

"Sorry, what?" John barely had time to ask before Sherlock took hold of his bound arms and raised them over his head, another leg bowing his legs out from underneath him. He stumbled backwards onto the bed. Sherlock pulled him up on the comforter with a graceful ease John didn't know was the lean man and he secured his zip tie restraints to the mattress pull at the top of the bed. "Sherlock!"

"Oh hush now, John. I'm simply recreating the scene. I can't properly test a theory without recreating the scene." Sherlock gave him a tsk tsk type of disapproving look before continuing through his mental map. "Ah, yes, she was blindfolded as well." Sherlock climbed off the bed and made to grab the handkerchief and the bag. He placed them on the bed as he made to climb on top of John and sit on his pelvis on the bed. He took hold of the bag.

"Ah, I see. So the lady had a few glasses of red wine and then allowed her man to tie her up to the bed, is that it?" John was starting to wiggle with nervousness beneath Sherlock. He stopped when he heard the slight moan above him and took in the seductive smile upon Sherlock's face.

"No. I figured for what we've got in store you'd probably need a drink or two to loosen up a bit." Sherlock winked. He honestly just winked at me. He doesn't do that. Oh gods. That last item... John swallowed so hard his adam's apple bobbed and Sherlock took notice. "The lady was blindfolded, gagged-"

"Gagged?!" John gasped. He was really starting to get anxious now and wiggled some more. Sherlock groaned and John could feel the hardness of him pressing into his thigh.

"Yes, gagged. Really, John, follow along." Sherlock sighed and ground against John's pelvis in response to his wiggle worming about beneath them. Sherlock fished around in the bag and produced a small silver item, which he placed upon the table. I already know what that is. Oh gods. John sighed and closed his eyes. Sherlock bent and placed a kiss on John's forehead before taking the handkerchief and tying it around John's eyes. His vision went dark. Sensation soared.

"Sherlock. This is safe word territory." John's voice shook with anxiety and anticipation. He wasn't going to lie. He was a little bit turned on by the entirety of this.

"Don't be dull." Sherlock stated but John could sense the smile in his voice as he said it. "Now, the lady was trussed up as so, and her lover proceeded to snog and shag her to his liking, which included the item that sits on the bedside table." John could feel those long fingers flitting down about him, lifting his shirt to graze his chest and traveling lower to remove his shoes and socks, then back up to brush against his groin, which was starting to stir at the heightened sensations that abounded. He felt Sherlock bend to kiss around his stomach and rub firmly against his groin, causing the friction to pull a gasp from deep within his chest.

"I thought you said she was gagged." John stated, as if to postpone all of the build up he was currently experiencing a little longer. It wasn't like Sherlock to forget a tiny detail like that. It's all in the details. John felt the warmth of the wine beginning to work on him. Perhaps Sherlock had had the right idea.

"Ah, and this is why I need you, John. Always on top of things." Sherlock answered. "Well, currently you aren't in a physical sense but I'm sure by the time I'm done deducing you won't mind." He felt the bed move as Sherlock undid the zipper on his jeans and pulled them unceremoniously off of him in a few swift moves. All that lay between Sherlock's nimble hands and his growing erection were his briefs. Sherlock raised his eyebrows when he noticed that John was wearing the red ones. Sherlock liked the color on him. It was the color of desire and lust and he made his already swollen cock twitch with hunger for his captive. A few seconds later those were off as well and John lay before him gloriously nude from the waist down, his t-shirt raised to his nipple line, and his hands hopelessly and painlessly bound above his head. "Here we are."

Before John could comment or complain, Sherlock balled the briefs up and stuffed them into his mouth. John was shocked. What's this now?! I couldn't scream if I wanted to! What if that's the point? What if Sherlock is taking things to a whole new level and he's going to do such things to me as to make me...this is so wrong. And so bloody hot. What is wrong with me?! John feared he was becoming a sexual deviant. Perhaps it was true, and would he really complain if it were so? Everything Sherlock did to him and with him felt so blissfully erotic he found himself wanting on a daily basis.

"Ah, I see that you aren't so opposed to this idea after all, Dr. Watson." Sherlock stated and John sucked in a breath through gritted teeth as Sherlock began to stroke him and thumb the tip of him with those well trained exploring hands. The fire inside of him was reaching molten lava levels and quick. He was too turned on. Sherlock sensed this and his hands were gone. He groaned through his gag with disappointment. "No worries, lover." Sherlock replied. John could sense the bed tilt again. He's going for that-

There was a soft buzzing noise that sounded, interrupting his thought processes. He knew now what it was that Sherlock planned to do and it excited him to a point he feared he might come as soon as it touched him. Then it was upon him, moving along his cut lines and tickling in a delightful way. He sighed, glad to have those pleasurable sensations back. Sherlock traced it along the top of his pelvic bone to his hips and down around his cock, taunting and teasing it with his free hand as he did so. John could faintly feel Sherlock's increasingly rapid, hot breaths upon his cock and the detective did his handiwork. Slowly the item vibrated along this most sensitive parts of his inner thighs, his tightening balls, and even lower before disappearing. John bucked his hips. Sherlock chuckled.

"Calm down, don't want it to hurt." Sherlock moaned for a moment before applying the item once more to John's opening and teasing about it in slow, agonizing circles. John moaned with delight at the sensation. It was almost too much. He would have groaned Sherlock's name had he not been gagged. He was aching all over for release as Sherlock slowly pushed it up into John and slowly prepared him with it. John bucked and moved his hips, taking it all in, enjoying the feeling of the vibrations inside of him. He longed to have it on his sweet spot but Sherlock denied him. What seemed like hours later the item disappeared again and John whined.

"Fuck, John." Sherlock breathed raggedly and removed the underwear from his mouth, allowing John to pant openly. "The sounds you make are so bloody sinful." John soon felt the enormity of Sherlock pressing needfully against him and he whined once more. "I didn't plan to take you but gods..." Sherlock sighed and slammed into John in one smooth motion.

"Sherlock!" John cried, not out of pain, but out of sheer lust. Sherlock did not hold back, but moved quickly and fluidly within him, hitting his prostate with each swift thrust. John moaned continuously, letting Sherlock know exactly how much he loved being filled up with him, how bloody wonderful it felt to be so deep inside of him. He ached and bucked to the rhythm of Sherlock's lovemaking.

Sherlock continued on without repose, and leaned forward on both hands to gain better ground. John's cock was rubbing deliciously up against the washboard of his stomach and the sensation for both men was indescribable. "Fucking hell!" Was the last thing Sherlock remembered before he came in blissful strong waves within John, who only moments later exploded with his own orgasm upon his lover's stomach. Sherlock could barely stop himself from continuing to move within John as he begged the feeling not to end.

In time he removed himself and lay upon the bed with John, still blindfolded and trussed up. Both men did not speak, as they could barely take in sweet oxygen to their lungs after holding their breaths with their release. As the world came back to him, Sherlock pulled a pocket knife from the nearby drawer of the opposite nightstand and cut John free of his restraints. John rubbed his wrists absentmindedly before rolling on top of Sherlock and devouring him with a kiss. There were no words, just actions to show how incredible their act had felt. The chemistry was perfect.

"Well, Dr. Watson." Sherlock sighed as John released him and sat up on the bed. "Were your sensations heightened during your experience?"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. I'd say yes." John commented and turned to look at his naked detective as he lay out across the bed with hands behind his bed and his lazy curls haloed about his forehead.

"Do you believe you could have seen or heard an intruder enter and murder your lover in that fashion?" Sherlock quipped. John was taken aback.

"I probably could have heard something but not seen it." John answered.

"Good. I believe the lady can be scratched from the suspect list then." Sherlock smiled, as if the case was easily solved and bounded off the bed. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Lestrade. Ms. Bardow is innocent. I'd say it's more likely the wife not the mistress . I'll have it sent to you in the morning. I can take on the next three now." He hung up with not so much as a goodbye or piss off and sighed. He turned to see John admiring the silver item that had lain in the bed. He smiled as John shook it at him, as if he didn't quite know what to say about it. "I'm sure if Mycroft was confused as to why I was requesting it, he won't ask for it to be returned." He laughed and John joined him.

"I'll take care of this then." John headed into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later to deposit it into the drawer of the nightstand along with the handkerchief. He wandered over and poured another round of wine for them both. "Right. Now what?"

Sherlock awoke in the middle of the night and glanced groggily about the room, wondering what it was that had awoken him. He hated these bloody bunker rooms, as they didn't let any outside light in. Good for security, bad for one who like windows and being able to stare off into nothing to help his mind ease up some. It had to have been a light or a noise or some sort of movement.

He rolled over and attempted to place his hand over John's abdomen and touched nothing but the softness of the sheet. Oh. Perhaps that's what woke me. He must have gotten up to use the restroom. He sighed. He had grown so accustomed to having John with him as they slept that without him there he felt wide awake. He waited a few minutes to hear something from the bathroom and when he didn't he sat up. What had woken him? Something was off, he could feel it in the air. He rolled over and clicked on the light on the nightstand and looked about. No signs of something wrong presented themselves except for the absence of John whom he knew he had fallen asleep next to. The last time John disappeared somewhere something horrible happened. Sherlock felt the metallic taste of adrenaline fill his mouth. He went to get out of the bed when he glanced and noted the vibration of Moriarty's phone on the desk. He walked over to it, slowly, not wanting to touch the vile thing.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock." Moriarty's voice floated ethereally over the connection, sounding none too pleased. "You've been a busy man."

"I've been simply lending my expertise to the authorities." Sherlock answered, trying his best to sound witty as he always did, and finding the words hard to come by. Don't let this be about John. Leave him be.

"I've got a few surprises in store for you as well. An eye for an eye. Or seven." Moriarty's voice was laced with lethal intent. Sherlock was quiet, not knowing what to say. "I've gotten ahold of your precious doctor once before and was gracious enough to let the both of you go. I won't be so gentle next time, Sherlock. Believe me, there will be a next time. And perhaps it's come sooner than you think." The line went dead. Sherlock dropped the phone, fear pulsing through him like a current of electricity. He ran to his nightstand and pulled out his firearm, checking it and removing the safety.

His door burst open as he was doing so and he quickly aimed. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest to see John enter. John stopped and held up his hands. "Woah, Sherlock..." Sherlock lowered the weapon. John shut the door behind him and locked it. "What's this about?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock was pale. "I woke and you were gone and Moriarty phoned." Sherlock felt faint. John rushed to him and helped him into the armchair before he fell to the ground. He took the gun away, put the safety on, and placed it on the desk. "Something is going to happen."

"How does he know where we are? We don't even know where we are." John sighed. He checked Sherlock over and found him okay other than being sickly pale from the emotional strain Moriarty was placing on him.

"He still has employees. He will find us. And when he does he is going to take you, John. Take you away to get at me." Sherlock sat forward quickly, eyes blazing. John calmed him, urging him to sit back. "You can't leave. You can't just leave like that."

John's heart ached to see his usually egotistical, blunt detective so shaken up, and all over him. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I didn't mean to worry you." John stated and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder reassuringly.

The door burst open. John had enough time to see the man enter, gun raised before shots rang out and the man fell dead to the floor. Sherlock only stared, wide eyed and shaky, John stared at his gun. He hadn't pulled the trigger.


	32. Chapter 32

Sherlock and John simply stared at the body of the man as he lay face down upon the floor, the door kicked in and splintered, blood pooling out from underneath him. "John." Sherlock spoke low and soft in disbelief. John glanced at his gun, still aimed at the ready and cocked, safety off, but he had not discharged it.

"It wasn't me, Sherlock." John stuttered. They stayed still, wondering if there would be anyone to follow. Footsteps approached and John remained alert and ready to fire. Molly Hooper stepped into sight, gun held by both hands but lowered, a look of indescribable horror upon her face. "Gods, Molly..." John sighed with relief and lowered his weapon, placing it back on safety and moving towards the startled woman who stood staring down at the body in the doorway. He made his way quickly to her and took hold of the gun carefully from her hands. Sherlock moved from out of the armchair with renewed vigor and started towards the man, looking him over as John cared for Molly.

"I- I shot him." Molly was staring off into space, through the floor and through the body. John shushed her quietly and took hold of her chin to turn her face to his. It took a moment before she broke her glazed stare and looked up at him. "I saw him coming towards your room with the gun and I just-"

"It's okay, Molly. You did it to protect us. It's okay." John reassured her, drawing her close to him and stroking her hair as it hung in its loose ponytail. She didn't say much else, but seemed willing enough to accept his embrace.

Sherlock had crouched beside the man and was in the process of deducing as much as he could about the man when another person could be heard approaching, footsteps hurrying about the corridor outside. Lestrade rounded into the doorway and stopped short of the man laying in the way. His eyes were bright with worry and fear. "Molly! What the devil were you thinking?!" He stepped over the body and placed an arm about her shoulders as John comforted her.

"What the hell was going on out there?" John questioned, looking up at the detective inspector with concern. Lestrade sighed, obviously relieved that none of them were injured.

"I had just arrived and was walking Molly down to the commons when she spotted this man heading in your direction. Before I could say anything she had grabbed my gun and took off running after him." Lestrade spoke lively with his hands as he explained.

"Disarmed by Molly Hooper?" Sherlock scoffed and grinned as he examined the body. "You're losing your touch, Detective Inspector." He looked up to relish the look of contempt that momentarily flashed across Lestrade's face.

"What was it about him that made you do that, Molly?" John held her at arm's length and searched her face. She seemed to be recovering from her shock and met his eyes.

"He looked out of place, very nervous. And as he took off towards Sherlock's room I noted him pulling the gun from the back of his pants." Molly rambled. Sherlock stood. He gave John a look which seemed to say I'm impressed and walked over to her.

"Well done, Molly." Sherlock smiled at her and glanced at Lestrade. "We should perhaps contact my brother. This man was employed here. I've seen him in the guard." Lestrade followed him and took a look at the man. The men bent to roll the body onto its back. "Bloody good shooting too, Ms. Hooper." Sherlock smirked as he noted the shot through the back and directly through the heart.

"Have you ever fired a gun before?" John asked as he looked her over. She shook her head no and stumbled over to the bed to have a seat. John went to the mini bar and poured her a shot of something stout. He felt she needed it after this. And therapy as well.

Mycroft could be heard approaching, a few of the guard in tow. As he reached the doorway he glanced disapprovingly down at the body. "Pity. I thought he had potential. This is Sgt. Stigway. Very punctual and followed orders to a T."

"Not from you apparently. And he had the potential to murder either one or both of us." Sherlock frowned at his brother, the fear from earlier re-realized within his mind at the moment. He swallowed it down with a bad taste.

"Well, good thing Lestrade was available to lend his weapon to Ms. Hooper and her eagle eye." Mycroft nodded approvingly to Molly, who returned a weak grin. She had done well, she knew this, but was still shaken from the entire experience. "We've got a security leak, obviously. I'll get on it. Inside intel is a bitch to prevent when dealing with the likes of the criminal insane like Moriarty."

"I'm sure he used his few lines of computer code to get Sgt. Stigway into the facilities here, Mycroft. If I can hack his mainframe with it, surely he's been using it for other things." Sherlock sighed, and stood, contemplating his next move. He glanced at John, who had furrowed his brow and was studied the corpse closely. "What is it, John?"

"What if he wasn't acting completely on the behalf of Moriarty?" John asked from a far off place. Sherlock glanced at the body once more, looking it over and not seeing anything else of interest.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft added. The group was watching John intently now, Sherlock with growing concern.

"What if he was made to do this, against his will?" John was approaching the body. Sherlock's own body tensed.

"Well, he didn't exactly have a gun pointed at his head, now did he?" Lestrade chided, but even his face showed a disheartened doubt. John stood just over the body now, studying it. Sherlock glanced down once more, hating that he could be missing something. John had a knack for finding the little subtleties that he rarely missed. It did happen, but not often.

The man is dressed in his uniform, coat, dress shirt, dress slacks, shoes, beret (which now lay upon the floor by the body as it had fallen off as he had fallen dead)...gun was in left hand, not discharged (thankfully.) Military haircut, stance, active body type, single, twice divorced. Knee surgery three years ago, slight limp, active duty four years, active guard three years. What am I missing? Sherlock's mind raced. He struggled to see what it was that John noticed.

Suddenly, John took advantage of the open doorway and grabbed hold of the body, dragging it out the door and down the hallway. The group was startled, gathering in the hallway and watching him and he hurried off down the corridor. "What the hell-" Mycroft stumbled over his own words in surprise at John's actions. Sherlock took the time to grab his gun from off of the desk and ran towards John, panic alight within his heart and every point of his body.

John stopped and held up his hand at Sherlock who stopped on his heels. "He didn't have a choice, Sherlock. He's a living bomb." John yelled at the group. Sherlock kept his eyes trained on John, everyone holding their positions in this moment of tension. Sherlock took a step towards him. "Don't!" John shouted with anger at him, and he stopped and held his hands up in defeat. John was breathing heavily now, adrenaline coursing through him. He had noticed the bulk of the man's coat before any of the rest of them had. He remembered the way the vest of explosives had felt upon him when he had been taken by Moriarty a while back. The fear that races through you, knowing any wrong move could be your last. That you could be the death of your closest friends as well. He pulled the coat back at the side and pointed to the little blue flashing light that was now made visible. The timer was digital and glowed in bright blood red digits. Sherlock's face changed before John with realization.

"Oh bloody fucking-" Lestrade sighed and began to pace, gun held at length, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It never fucking ends with this guy!" Molly stood close to him with fear painted upon her pale face as well. Mycroft observed, emotionless.

"This man had a choice. Kill John or Sherlock one way or another. He would either put a bullet in us or blow us all to kingdom come. Now we don't have time for this. I have to get this body out of this facility and as far away as possible or else we are all going to die in here. So let me do this." John's eyes trained on Sherlock. "Let me do this. Trust me in this." Sherlock didn't move, his face was expressionless.

"You need to take him down to the commons and past the kitchens." Mycroft spoke up. "Take the door on the left, there's a tunnel leading underneath the grounds and out towards the south end. I'll alert the staff to let you through." Mycroft pulled out his phone and dialed immediately. John took one more moment to look at Sherlock, an intense moment of mixed emotions. John was scared, Sherlock could indeed sense that but he feared he wasn't as scared as himself in that moment. Everytime he had gotten his John back, known he was alive and uninjured, something else happened. Each time these things happened Moriarty's face appeared in his mind, mocking him, teasing him, torturing him. A blooming burn of hatred was quickly spreading through him.

"Come on, Molly." Lestrade took Molly's hand and they approached the adjacent hallway that led off to the right that John had already passed whilst dragging the body. "We'll run ahead and make it known you need a path and a wide berth." Molly ran after Lestrade as they took off quickly down the hall. Mycroft, still on his phone and shouting orders tensely, followed suit, umbrella in tow.

"How long?" Sherlock uttered. John broke eye contact long enough to glance at the timer inside the man's coat.

"Seven minutes and 56 seconds." John answered.

"Fuck sakes, John..."

"I can make it. Let me do this."

"Let me help you."

"No. I can do this."

"Faster with two." Sherlock took a frantic step towards him. John pulled his firearm and pointed it at him, hand steady. Sherlock stopped, stunned.

"Damn it to fucking hell, Sherlock! Let me do this!" John was angry and Sherlock could tell. The gun remained pointed at him as a warning.

"Go."

John had only seconds to note the look of forlorn that overtook Sherlock's handsome face. He was near tears, John knew. He disregarded it, intent on surviving this escapade. He placed his gun back in the back of his pants, took hold of the man's coat with both hands once more, and took off once more down the hallway, dragging the man's body with him. Sherlock followed, giving John his space but intent on staying with him at all times.

Down the corridors with many lefts and rights and towards the commons John drug the man as quickly as he possibly could. He noted no staff or guards in the corridors or anywhere else in the facility. Mycroft's message was heard. He passed by the commons and headed towards the kitchens. The man's body was becoming achingly heavier and heavier to drag but the adrenaline that surged through him carried him through, past the kitchens and down to the door which Mycroft had spoken of. John made it a point not to glance up as he knew Sherlock was following and he could not take the look on his lover's face again. He feared his heart would fail him if he did so.

The metal utility door was in front of him, he opened it and burst through with his back to it, dragging the body out after. He glanced behind him, noting the long winding tunnel that lay before him. It was lit by florescent bulbs that ran the length of it and disappeared behind a corner. He quickly made his way. He could hear voices, namely Lestrade's and Mycroft's echoing as he rounded a corner and noted Lestrade on the ramp that ran the upper level of the huge tunnel, playing lookout. Mycroft yelled at him from further down the tunnel. "The tunnel narrows further down, there will be many doors but you want the one marked 'Service Entrance' a ways down. It'll lead outside and down the back of the grounds. There's a lake about 1000 feet to your right where you may dispose of the body."

"Right!" John yelled to his companions and continued down. He pulled the coat to the side as he went, noting the time was now at the five minute and 42 second mark. He still had time. He rounded a corner and heard the ricochet of a bullet. He dove out of the way and yelled "Fuck!" as he did so. Lestrade and Mycroft had heard and were racing to John's location, staying with him. Another bullet rang out and whizzed by, John noted. He glanced up. Sherlock was gone. Gods, no. He didn't get hit, did he? John glanced around, not seeing anything and took hold of the body once more. Shot or not, he had to get the bomb out into the open.

Lestrade was firing from somewhere. Molly hadn't been noted as being in the tunnel so he could only hope she was safely back inside. He drug the body on, taking each wild, sterile lit turn as more ricochet could be heard.

Sherlock had seen John react to the bullet before he actually heard it and had whirled behind the concrete wall of the corner. He cocked his gun. Moriarty. He knew one of us would discover the bomb. He is trying to draw us out. Sherlock's mind could barely concentrate. He was fearful for John and his damned heroics. He did not want Lestrade or Molly or even his own brother to be harmed but when it came down to it, he feared he would never forgive himself if John were killed due to some childish rivalry with his consulting criminal fan club. Sherlock rounded the corner, gun drawn, searching the upper levels and doorways for the sniper. He saw nothing, only heard the shots ring out within the concrete greyness of the tunnel.

John had rounded another corner and Sherlock followed closely, always searching, his heart pounding away in his rib cage, barely contained. John could see the service entrance door in the distance and hurried towards it. Lestrade continued to fire, as did the sniper, somehow missing John each time but coming too close for comfort. More shots rang out, but Sherlock couldn't make out whether it was Lestrade's gun firing or the mystery attacker. Is this the Fox? Is it Moran that's firing on us? Sherlock couldn't help but wonder.

Sherlock heard a cry and glanced up. Lestrade was leaning against the metal grate of the upper level clutching his right arm and wincing in pain. "I'm hit!" Sherlock glanced, looking for the one who had wounded the detective inspector and spotted another guard, aiming and inching towards Lestrade. Sherlock jumped as a shot rang out from across the span of the tunnel on the opposite side. Mycroft was holding his umbrella like a shot gun. Mycroft has a gun in his umbrella? Is that why he carries the bloody thing everywhere with him?! Sherlock had to suppress a crazy giggle at the thought, but it couldn't be far from the truth as the shot took down Lestrade's attacker. He glanced up towards Mycroft who nodded approvingly down at him and could not see his own assassin behind him, gun raised. Sherlock fired before fully forming the thought and fell the man less than a foot from his older brother. Mycroft merely turned to see the man fall over the railing and down a few feet away from John.

John made it to the service entrance door and kicked it open. He was outside now in the darkness, dragging the dead body of Sgt. Stigway over the gravel of the street outside and towards the right where he found the lake to be. He took no notice of any further attacks as he did so and approached a slight hill which caused him to struggle. He made it, although barely, all of his muscles burning with the strain of dragging the 180 pound man through the facility and now up an incline. He noted the moon reflecting off of said lake and rejoiced as he was almost at his goal. He took one more glance down at the timer. One minute and 13 seconds remaining.

John noted a dock nearest to him. Perfect. He used every last ounce of strength he had within him to drag the body out onto the short dock and roll the body into the lake. He watched to make sure it was sinking, as it was, and he took off running full force back the way he had come. He made to jump over the short hill he had just came over just as the bomb went off. An explosion of water and debri rained down upon him as the force of the blast propelled him down onto the ground over the top of the hill.

John lay, ears ringing, disoriented, for what seemed like forever before he attempted to raise himself up on his arms. He looked out towards the way he had came, noting Lestrade and Mycroft hurrying towards him. Lestrade looked hurt, although not mortally wounded and this was a relief. He turned back towards the hill and glanced over, noting the grounds about the lake were flaming and the dock was completely obliterated. They had been lucky. I did it. I knew I could do it. John couldn't help but feel the swell of pride within him at completing what he had set out to do.

John barely had time to turn before Sherlock took hold of his shoulders. John! His voice could be heard but it was faint over the ringing in his ears from the blast. John, are you alright?! Sherlock was shaking him somewhat frantically. John took hold of his arms and nodded, still having a problem with his orientation and equilibrium. Bloody hell. Sherlock was obviously relieved and it showed throughout his entire demeanor as he began to lead John back towards their facility.

"Good show, Dr. Watson!" Mycroft congratulated him, swinging his umbrella that now drew Sherlock's curiosity. I'll have to ask him about this later. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother as if to say, you sly bastard. and they started back towards the facility.

John took a few steps before he dropped like a sack of potatoes and cracked his skull upon the gravel. Sherlock caught him barely as he fell, and the ricochet could be heard off of the walls of their safehouse. Lestrade and Mycroft turned in time to fire in the direction they believed it had originated. John's vision was reeling as the pain seared through his right temple. He felt the warmth of blood streaming. Sherlock was over him, protecting him, firing off into the distance, although John couldn't hear the shots. Everything was fading, his vision blackening.


	33. Chapter 33

Molly wandered into John's bedroom and closed the door silently behind her. She walked on shaky legs that felt like they were made out of rubber and her hands still shook from the come down off of the adrenaline. She had recovered well from her ordeal, as far as anyone in her state of shock could have. Lestrade had urged her to stay within the confines of the kitchen as they had neared the end of John's route to the outside with the body. What bravery, my gods. Molly still couldn't get over it. How John had caught the one minor detail that Sherlock had missed and had acted on it to save all of them. She felt she could never repay him.

Of course, she had had the guts to pull Lestrade's firearm and chase after a man with a gun whose intent was to kill Sherlock, or John. Or both. How she had known what his intent was, she couldn't tell. She could probably blame it on instinct. You can't trust anyone these days. Everyone is against you. Molly felt this couldn't be far from the truth. She had matured a lot in the short time frame after Sherlock's faked suicide. And perhaps taught a few people a thing or two. Such as don't leave the snap off of your firearm so that a woman can take it from you. She smiled at herself at that one. She had some guts.

She stood in the room for a moment, assessing the situation. John lay in the bed, still unconscious, his head bandaged but a gruesome red spot was blooming upon his right temple. He was hooked up to the vitals machine and it was doing its job. His blood pressure is a little low, but nothing serious. Pulse, oxygen, respirations, all look good. She approached the bed slowly. Sherlock sat in the armchair, staring either at John or through him, either could have been a possibility. He was pale, far too pale for Molly's liking, and he appeared to have lost some weight. His supper sat on the desk beside his laptop untouched, not surprisingly. He hadn't left John's side in two days. She rounded the bed on the side of him and he took no notice.

She leaned over and noted the bandaged was in need of changing. She turned and opened the drawer to gather clean sterile supplies. "How are you?" She asked, fully knowing she probably would not receive an answer. As expected, there was none, no reaction whatsoever. She turned back and applied her gloves. As she reached towards the bandaged about John's head, she felt a hand on her hip, and not in a kind way. She stopped and turned to look at Sherlock. He was glaring at her, hand digging into her left hip as he looked up at her, tightlipped. "It's okay. I've got to change it."

"Don't touch him." Sherlock growled. Molly stood her ground, unmoving, only watching him. He never broke eye contact.

"If I don't change it, it could get infected. You know that." Molly answered softly. Sherlock's searing gaze never left her widening eyes. She moved to lean over him again and the hand gripped her tighter upon her hip, enough to cause a bit of pain. She turned and grabbed his wrist, unable to remove his hand from her hip but making it clear she was not amused. "If you don't want me doing it, do it your own bloody self." She made to hand him the supplies, which his eyes danced to momentarily and then once again to her own. He said nothing, but his grip uon her let up and he steepled his hands under his chin and took watch once more over him.

Molly turned and slowly removed the bandage from about John's head. The wound was mostly superficial, the bullet only grazed John's temple, luckily. It was enough to daze him and allow him to lose his footing, smacking his skull on the gravel and causing a concussion. John had been in and out of consciousness for the past 48 hours, although Mycroft's best physicians stated he would make a full recovery. She cleaned the wound and bandaged it with a crisp white wrap before turning to Sherlock once more. "He's going to be okay. You know this."

"It shouldn't have come to this." John doesn't deserve to be a target." Sherlock grumbled, watching John intently as he slept. He looked peaceful, but Sherlock could not shake how close he had come to being killed. The emotions, the sentiment, the overwheling fear of losing something he treasured so much was becoming too much to bear.

"You are a target too. Moriarty is grasping at straws. You've wounded him and he is retaliating." Molly stated. "Count your blessings, choose your battles." She sat on the edge of the bed beside John, facing Sherlock. Sherlock was bathed in a cold sweat, shaky, obviously a nervous wreck. His eyes betrayed the deepest part of his soul as they teared up. "You know, I've always had a place in my heart for you. I used to attribute it to a schoolgirl crush but I realized its something more." Molly looked at him. Sherlock glanced at her momentarily but refused to meet her eyes for very long. She knelt down beside him as he sat in the chair and placed her hand upon his.

"I've always admired your prowess, your genius, your courage, even your egotistical rants. I've always loved working beside you in the lab, knowing that was probably as close as I was going to get to you, and that was enough." Molly explained. "I think I may honestly say that I've come to care about you greatly, even though my love will n ever be returned by you or realized even if I were to try my hardest to will it to be." Molly sighed, the sadness in her voice apparent. "I have accepted this. I'll always be here if you need me, anything you need. But I can see, just by looking at you in this way, that you love him." Molly's words were echoing within the reaches of Sherlock's mind and that last bit struck a cord. Sherlock could hold back no longer. The tears came hot and burned his eyes. He flung himself up out of the chair and started towards the bathroom, but Molly caught him.

"What do you need?" Molly asked, looking up at him with that same gaze, the same look that she had given him the night he had come to her in the lab. That night he had been raw and vulnerable as well, the inevitibility of his demise apparent and shaking him to his core. "I'm here for you. Lestrade and Mycroft and even Mrs. Hudson couldn't comfort you if you needed it. I know what you're feeling. So what do you need?" She placed her hands on his hands and squeezed. She led him back to the side of the bed and sat with him, allowing him to lay against her, to embrace her and to be comforted. She merely held him, allowing the wracking sobs to escape without any regret or embarrassment to be felt, and stroked his auburn curls with a motherly loving.

When Sherlock had regained his composure, he righted himself, standing and pacing about the room. Molly said nothing. He turned to her and asked "How is Lestrade?"

"He's okay. Just a flesh wound to the arm. It's going to heal up fine, he will recover." Molly smiled.

"Good." Sherlock nodded, his face serious but tired. Molly rose, checking John's bandage and his vital signs one last time.

"I'll leave you to him. I'll tell the guard not to disturb you." Molly stated simply and as she passed by nodded to Sherlock before turning to head out the door, her ponytail bouncing behind her. Sherlock stood a moment longer and gazed down at John, peaceful and sleeping. He felt his heart wounded by the sight of him laying there helpless and wounded.

Molly was shocked as Sherlock reached out and caught her arm. She stopped and turned to look up at him. He seemed so conflicted, so absolutely pained in that moment as he turned his eyes from John upon her. He pulled her close to him and embraced her. She hugged him tight. Perhaps all he needs is someone to comfort him. Molly felt her heart break for him. She knew what it was like to love someone so much that it physically hurt. He released her reluctantly and only looked at her, searching her eyes as if looking for the answer to a question he didn't want to ask. "What do you need?" Molly whispered, unable to stop the longing in her own heart for the detective.

"Once again, Ms. Hooper," Sherlock whispered. "You."

John found himself on top of St. Bartholomew's hospital rooftop, staring over the edge, standing on the windy ledge watching the people mill about below. His head hurt, the light stung his eyes, the wind seared his skin and threatened to push him over to tumble to his death. He felt he couldn't move. Is this what Sherlock saw before he jumped? John questioned. He felt he could barely breathe, his chest tightening with panic, with sadness. With the realization that he wasn't going to be able to turn back. This was it. The solution to the final problem. The fall.

Much to his amazement, he heard Sherlock's deep baritone voice carry on the wind that whipped about him. "Step down, John." It repeated and repeated. John found he could move. He turned slowly and stepped off of the ledge and onto the rooftop once more. Sherlock stood a few feet away, his blue scarf and coat with upturned collar upon him. He was smiling, relieved. John felt his heart skip a beat. Sherlock was there to help, always there to protect.

Another figure was there as well, blurry at first but then noticeable laying upon the ground. Moriarty, a crazy Chesire Cat grin upon his pale face, the blood pooling out behind him in a stream, the discharged gun still in his left hand. Sherlock seemed nonplussed of this, as if it were old news. John was doubtful, he felt that something wasn't quite right. Sherlock led him to the body. "Look, John. He's dead. Everything is done." Sherlock was still smiling, pleased. John wanted to tell him it wasn't right, nothing about the scene was right.

As John feared, Moriarty sat up and laughed maniacally. John feared he would die of fright. He was alive, he knew he couldn't be killed off that easily. He wanted to warn Sherlock who had his back turned to Moriarty's rising corpse with that same smile upon his face. John tried to yell to him, to warn him. Look out! Sherlock, watch out! But the words would not come.

Moriarty was on his feet now, coming up slowly behind Sherlock. John was frozen once more, unable to will himself to move. Moriarty came up behind Sherlock, one arm seizing him by his neck and the other pointing the gun at his left temple. John had just enough time to watch Sherlock's smile fade to one of surprise and then horror as the gun discharged.

Suddenly, John was swept into a painful remembrance of his lover. The cases being solved, Sherlock's messiness in their flat at 221B Bakerstreet, Mrs. Hudson's carryings on about his discharging his own weapon at the wall with the bright yellow smiley sprayed upon it. It was an almost painful sweep of memories. His brain was on fire, his head threatened to split into two. Sherlock kissing him as he sat upon his chest in his upstairs bedroom, shocked that his closest friend was truly alive, Sherlock taking him in the bathtub, John claiming him many times over. All of the love, emotion, lust, desire, passion, all swept and fading in color until nothing remained but blackness.

John came out of the bed screaming at the top of his lungs. He was bathed in sweat, his voice hoarse. People were about him, arms trying to take hold of him and calm him, a woman's voice, very faint in the background, "John! It's okay, John! Calm down! It's Molly!" This seemed to anchor him slightly. He looked around the fuzzy bordered room and noted it was his bedroom at the safehouse facility that Mycroft had taken them to. He noted the people struggling to calm him were merely medical personnel, as he could tell by their white coats and stethescoped necks. He looked groggily about and noted Lestrade in the room as well, at his side and trying to snap him back into reality.

"Wha-" John attempted to speak and noted that the words did not come very easily. His head ached something awful. He winced and put an IV clad hand up to his temple, feeling nothing but soft bandaged and a sharp greeting of pain where he touched his right temple. Molly was beside him, taking careful hold of his hand and lowering it. "Where-"

"It's okay." Molly's voice was nearly crystal clear now. He looked at her sleepily as if he'd just woken from a long sleep. "You were grazed by a bullet to your temple, that's why it hurts. Don't touch." Molly rubbed his hand reassuringly and smiled at him. He relaxed against the pillow and let the nurses and the doctor assess him. He said nothing, trying to gain his bearings as Molly and Lestrade stayed with him. He allowed his eyes to scan the room, but did not see Sherlock anywhere about. He could have sworn he had heard him talking. Perhaps I dreamed it.

After a while, when the medical staff were satisfied that he was stable, they left Molly and Lestrade to tend to their friend. "Tell me, Molly." John's speech was still a little stilted and slow but manageable. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly three days." Molly explained. "What do you remember?"

"I remember Sherlock and I were in the flat, there were shots... It's all blurred together." John winced again as a new ache rattled his tender head. Molly glanced at Lestrade who only returned the look. "What's with the look? I don't like we both know what's really going on here looks. I tell Sherlock that all the time."

"We fear perhaps you've got a touch of amnesia, mate." Lestrade answered as he leaned in. John regarded him with squinted eyes momentarily. "We're going to ask you a few questions. Answer them as best you can. We will try to fill in the gaps, okay?" John nodded.

"Do you know what this place is?" Molly asked.

"Mycroft's safehouse."

"How did you get here?"

"Shots in the flat."

"Okay, there were shots and Mycroft brought us all here. What's the last you remember of Sherlock?" Molly inquired.

"Having dinner...then shots. I don't remember after that." John was becoming frustrated. It was so hard to remember.

"Sherlock is here with us. He's been working on taking down Moriarty." Oh, that's right. The key code, I remember that. The calls on the phone. John nodded.

"Looks like he's just missing bits and pieces. It'll come along." Lestrade nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "I've got to be off to check in with Mycroft." Lestrade nodded to Molly and took his leave.

Molly waited until the door closed behind him and she and John were the only one's in the room. "One last question, John. Then you need to rest." John nodded, wincing once more, he felt that perhaps they had given him some medication, as he was feeling more relaxed and a little out of it. "Who are you in love with?"

John found it a very strange question. He tried hard to think. Not Sarah, not the "boring school teacher" Jeanette. Nope, currently single. John could find no other possible answer. "I'm not with anyone right now." John answered. Molly looked at him and once she was satisfied she smiled and got him a cup of water to sip down.

"Rest now. I'm going to let the others know you're better." Molly started off towards the door.

"Let Sherlock know I'd like a word with him when he can." John called after her. She paused at the door, turned and smiled at him, and then left. John lay back in the bed, feeling pleasantly relaxed and ready to sleep a bit. The headache was easing up some and he felt although he had apparently been out for three days he was exhausted. He hoped that things would come to him quicker whenever he awoke once more.

Molly met Sherlock down the corridor and they walked together to the commons. "What's your deduction, Ms. Hooper?" Sherlock asked without glancing at her. His face was solemn and strained.

"He doesn't remember." Molly answered, somewhat sadly. She knew how hard this was for Sherlock. She knew the depths of their love and what it meant to not be recognized by the one who held your heart. "It doesn't mean he won't remember, Sherlock."

"It's better this way." Sherlock snapped. "At least at until this is over with. The sooner I can resume picking the wings off of Moriarty's flies the sooner we can resume whatever it is he may or may not remember." Sherlock answered and walked on ahead. Molly said nothing, as there were no words. She would play along with this charade until either John remembered or Sherlock was ready to bring John back to the reality that was.

The phone in Sherlock's jacket pocket was buzzing once more. He removed it and glanced, not answering. Only allowing it to ring into oblivion.


	34. Chapter 34

"The security has been upped once more, Lestrade, I assure you." Mycroft answered, swishing the bourbon in his tumbler glass about in aggravation. "I am not the whole of the British government, despite what Sherlock implies. I'm only one man. I cannot account for the faults of others."

"Understood, but this makes how many times that something has happened? All because we were present." Lestrade sat forward and winced somewhat from the injury to his arm which was wrapped up nicely and in a sling. Molly shifted her weight uneasily in the chair next to him, hands clasped together about her knee in a ladylike position.

"Frankly, Mycroft, your amping up security only seems to up the ante for our friend." Sherlock sighed as he stared off into space from his seat near the bar. "Raising the stakes, allowing him to show off a bit. It's disturbing."

"I've done my best, Sherlock. Moriarty is obviously a much stronger force to be reckoned with than we anticipated." Mycroft sneered. Molly noted the tired look in his eyes. She felt for him some, as Sherlock was increasingly agitated this morning.

"Says the man who gives information that is not his to give to the world's most increasingly notorious consulting criminal and then releases him back into the wild." Sherlock snapped. His eyes darted towards his older brother momentarily to make his point. Mycroft frowned.

"It seems I'm a little late on the game, Sherlock. I'll admit. Apologies." Mycroft mumbled and sucked down his drink with a bite to his words.

"Apologies are useless." Sherlock mocked, his eyes darting this way and that as he tried to maintain his composure. Molly leaned forward, anticipating a need to stand between the two if things got too dicey. What she would do in that situation she didn't quite know but surely Lestrade would back her up.

"By the way, Mycroft. Fancy handling with that umbrella of yours." Lestrade made to divert the conversation much to Molly's relief. "Now I see why you tote it about as you do." Lestrade seemed genuinely impressed.

"From my days in the more secretive sections of the British government, I assure you." Mycroft was pleased. "It comes in handy on many occasions, although it's been quite a while since I've been able to shoot it." Sherlock was rolling his eyes from across the room. Molly was hoping damage control would not be in order.

John wandered in, taking in the room in all of its flourescent light. Molly's eyes flicked from John to Sherlock, noting Sherlock sitting up a bit straighter, taking notice of John as he ambled in and stood admiring the group. Molly glanced at Lestrade and Mycroft. Neither seemed to catch the change in Sherlock, which was good. The less they know, the better off this will all be. Molly let her breath out slowly. "Thanks for the wake up call." John joked.

Mycroft stood, a smile upon his face, motioning for him to pull up a chair and join them. "Considering the circumstances we figured you were still tired from your ordeal and were allowing you to recooperate." John nodded a thank you to him for being invited to sit and took the seat on the opposite side of the bar that Sherlock sat beside. John took to pouring himself a shot of bourbon as the bottle stood on the wooden bar top near him.

"The circumstances?" John asked. I wonder how much he remembers. Molly pondered as she watched the dynamics of the group.

"Oy! You don't remember? You saved us all three days ago!" Lestrade spoke up. "You dragged a bomb laden body through the whole bloody facility and outside to the lake before it took us all out. That's how you got the wound to the head, mate." Lestrade explained in case John didn't remember any of it, which Molly imagined he didn't. "That amnesia still irking you?"

John nodded with a disgruntled expression. "Yes, but now that you've mentioned that incident I do remember bits and pieces of it." He glanced at Sherlock, who was looking away, tapping his fingers impatiently upon his leg as he stared off. "I'm sure it will all come back to me soon. If it was only a concussion it should be short term." John smiled to the group as he finished and sipped his drink.

"Right, good." Mycroft answered. He pulled a folder out of the desk he sat at and pulled out surveillance photos. As Molly and Lestrade looked them over and passed them to Sherlock and John, Mycroft added "These are the two men that we gunned down in the tunnel. They had been working in the service for years. Whether they recently became associated with Moriarty or have been within his web for quite some time we do not know."

John glanced at the photos and flashes came to him. The gunshots in the corridor. The man falling off of the metal grating as Mycroft raised his umbrella and shot him before he could kill Lestrade. The other man behind Mycroft being taken out with a single shot by Sherlock as Sherlock followed him. Followed me. We were both in his bedroom...John struggled to see what was right before his eyes. He knew he was so close to making a connection there. Were we discussing Moriarty? I know about the keycode, I remember that. But...John glanced over to Sherlock who was studying him intently with a frown upon his face. His eyes are sad, why are they so sorrowful? John furrowed his brow and handed the photos back.

Mycroft produced yet another photo. It was night vision capture in its eerie greens and blacks of a man with short hair, a strong figure, and a sniper rifle discharging. "We believe this is Sebastian Moran, better known to Sherlock as The Fox. This was taken up from the opposite facility building rooftop around the time John was walking back towards the facility." Molly and Lestrade took it in, passed it on to Sherlock and John, and Sherlock held onto it. He studied it intently. John watched him. "No idea how he was able to enter the facility unless one of the other two shooters got him in, which is most likely the case." Sherlock took a moment longer before sliding the picture across the bar to John without any reaction. He resumed staring off into space. John watched him for a moment, confused. Then studied the picture himself. Something is obviously bothering him. John handed the picture back to Lestrade. "We need to come up with a plan of action. As I stated before I have more than doubled security, as much as I can pull without leaving the commonwealth with nothing. This is quickly turning into a matter of national security. If Moriarty is able to penetrate our safest facilities than anything could be threatened as easily." Mycroft cleared his throat.

"We will discuss it later. I need to think." Sherlock suddenly stood and strode out of the room, past John and out the door. The group looked at after him in confusion.

"Sounds like a right plan. I've got to get back to Scotland Yard. I'll see if I can dig up any intel. Not that there will be any but you never know." Lestrade stood and nodded to Molly. "Mycroft." He shook the man's hand and then left. John sat unmoving, trying to take everything in. He was still having momentary flashes, and they were making his head hurt again. Molly came to him and put an arm on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Molly asked and He looked up at her and forced a weak smile. Mycroft strode up to him as Molly helped him stand and shook his hand.

"Very glad to have you back in the land of the living, John." Mycroft grinned before leaving. Molly steadied John as he stood, a bit weak upon his feet still. His head was starting to really smart.

"I'm fine, Molly. Just getting tired a little easily. I'll be okay." John nodded reassuringly to her and she led him out of the room and into the corridor with expectations to head down to the commons. "Can you tell me what's bugging Sherlock?" Molly swallowed hard.

"He's been under a lot of stress recently. What with Moriarty playing his games and the scare with the bomb and you being hurt and everything. I'm sure he will be fine. You know him better than I do when he gets like this." Molly gave a nervous giggle that lightened John's heart a little. John stopped at the corridor that split and led down to their living quarters.

"I believe I'm going to go lay down for a spell if you don't mind." John stated. Molly gave him a little hug.

"Of course, whatever you need." Molly answered and watched as John headed slowly off down the hall. She only allowed her smile to falter when she was sure he wouldn't turn and look back at her.

John walked down the corridor, pondering. Damn my bloody memory. As hard headed as I am I should be able to snap right out of this. He sighed as he felt another twinge of pain in his brain. More flashes. A scene of John toting the body down the hall. Sherlock with a look of absolute horror upon his face. Faster with two.

Damn it, Sherlock! Let me do this! Had he actually drawn a gun on Sherlock? Faster with two.Sherlock had wanted to help and John wouldn't let him.

More flashes. John in his bed at 221B, waking up, finding Sherlock laying beside him. He blushed with embarrassment anew as he remembered Sherlock's hands upon him, stroking him, teasing him. What the bloody hell? Am I going crazy? He stopped short of Sherlock's door. He hesitated. He went to pass on by and hesitated again. Damn it. John entered the room without knocking.

Sherlock stood at his desk, not touching his laptop or the collection of papers laying on top of the wooden finish. "Rather rude not to knock, Dr. Watson."

"Are you going to stop ignoring me now?" John shut the door behind him and stood, arms crossed, feeling his anger rising within him. He felt there was something missing that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He wondered if Sherlock's acting cold towards him had anything to do with that.

"I haven't been ignoring anyone." Sherlock's voice was deep but without its excited warmth. It was unusually cold for one even such as him. "I've been busy, if you haven't noticed. Your antics haven't helped."

"My 'antics'? Really?" John was appalled.

"Yes, John. Your shortcomings are rather shocking as of late. We can't seem to get anything done around here with you constantly endangering yourself and getting in the way." Sherlock didn't move, his back remained to John. John didn't know what to say. How is any of this my fault?

"Well, Mr. High and Mighty. My antics have hardly had the effect yours have had." John was beginning to feel the anger rise up within him so strong he wondered if he'd be able to contain it. "I'm not the one who jumped off a fucking building and popped up again a few months later like nothing happened!" John was livid now, and hurt.

Sherlock still didn't turn. "You know why I did that. How many times do I need to explain it to you?" Only then did he turn, but not towards John. He had reacted to the buzzing from within the bedside table. He did not go to investigate, only turned back to whatever it was he had been staring at. Or through. The buzzing continued. John could take it no longer, and he strode over and yanked open the nightstand drawer. There within buzzed Moriarty's black phone, laying beside a silver item of curiosity and a few other random things. That silver- bloody hell...John's mind raced. Not a vision this time, as the only thing within his mind was the blackness. The feeling though swept through him and he flushed deep red in color. He picked up the phone and took it to Sherlock, meaning for him to answer it. Sherlock made no reaction to take it.

"Answer the bloody thing, Sherlock! What is wrong with you?!" John raised his voice in response to the conflicted feelings he felt within him. He glanced back, noting the item in the drawer once more and slammed the drawer shut. He proceeded to shake the vibrating phone in Sherlock's face. Sherlock reached up, taking hold of John's wrist forcefully and pulling the phone from his hand with the other. John felt the anger drain from him as he gazed into Sherlock's face. His expression had changed from one of near contempt to one of- Love? Wanting? Does Sherlock even have that range of emotions within him? It's so hard to tell and he is so guarded. Sherlock's grasp upon his wrist had softened but he still held him. Sherlock's eyes never left John's searching ones as he laid the phone down on the desk.

"What is it, John? Why are you looking at me like that?" Sherlock's voice had dropped to a seductively low level and John felt himself very confused. He felt a stir within him that appalled him. What the bloody hell? Sherlock's touch on his hand, Sherlock's eyes searching his for something he was unsure of. John pulled his hand from Sherlock's grasp and back up a step. His mind was flashing again, his head was aching terribly. I love you, John. John gulped, his mouth was dry. No, couldn't be. It can't be. I'm dreaming. Just like the dream of the rooftop and Moriarty. It's all a dream. Sherlock doesn't...does he? I'm losing it. I'm done. John collapsed to a sitting position upon the bed. Sherlock remained upright, looking down on him.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, the honey laced words becoming more like his usual concern, and for this John felt momentarily grateful. John held his head in his hands and slowed his breathing. He felt nauseated.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I just keep getting, you know, flashes of things." John stated and waved Sherlock off dismissedly. Sherlock looked down on him and said nothing. John didn't dare look up.

"What things?" Sherlock asked.

"Things I don't think are real. I'm confusing my dreams with reality." John grumbled.

"Are you sure they aren't memories?" Sherlock asked. John glanced up at him with that same appalled slap in the face look he had earlier.

"Memories of- No!" John shook his head. That made it hurt more so he stopped. Silence.

"Are you sure? What are they flashes of? Tell me." Sherlock stated. John stood. I need to get out of here. I need to breath. I'm so confused. I- John wanted to make for the door but Sherlock stood in the way. A particularly strong flash overtook him at that moment. One of Sherlock, shot in the side, bleeding, laying in the bedroom floor. John leaning over him, sure he was dead. Sherlock's coy half joking response of I'm not dead...let's have dinner. John carrying him down the stairs and to the tub. John looked down at Sherlock's side. How much time have I really lost? He reached out and pulled his hand back. Sherlock only watched him, eyes afire with some strange excitement that John felt a weird feeling of deja vu at noticing. If that really happened, there will be a scar, a fading mark...

John took hold of Sherlock's jacket and pulled it off of him quickly. Sherlock was stunned, leaning in, wanting this to be a moment like before. A moment where John took charge of him, undressed him, kissed him. The urgency to be taken and wanted hungrily. Sherlock nearly did, before John grabbed his dress shirt and yanked it open. Gods, does he remember? Sherlock felt his heart leap with the anticipation that John had remembered their relationship and was reacting in such a way that. John was staring at Sherlock's side. Sherlock glanced down and followed his eyes. John traced over the barely noticeable whiteness of the scar tissue there, staring in disbelief. He's remembered something but damn it, what is it?

John glanced up at Sherlock, his eyes a stormy mixture of confusion, anger, sadness..."I've lost a lot of time with this amnesia. I remember things but then I don't know what's real and what isn't." John sighed, a heavy disappointed sigh.

"You remember very quickly when your memory is jogged though, John." Sherlock stated, his voice had obtained that gold karate baritone once more. John glanced up, conflicted. "Would it help if I jogged your memory?" John wasn't sure what it was Sherlock meant but he was becoming desperate. His head swam and pained him.

John gulped. His stomach was in his throat, he felt cemented to the floor. "Yes."

Sherlock took hold of his shirt and pulled him in before John had a chance to change his mind. His lips parted, He poured himself into a passionate kiss that took hold of John from head to toe. Oh gods, what the fuck is happening?! This feels so right, why does it feel this is right?! John melted into the kiss, not pulling away and Sherlock took the chance to continue exploring his lover's mouth with gusto.

I can't, I can't do this. Why is this?! The memories attacked him like a hurricane he could not escape. Filling him up like the memories of Sherlock filling him up to the hilt with pleasure and desire and unbridled lust. And the love, the feeling of butterflies within the confines of your ribcage and stomach when Sherlock walked into a room, or when he whispered breathily "I love you..." as they made love. John tore himself away from Sherlock and left him wanting. He had a raging hardness within his clothing that shamed him and excited him all at the same time.

"Oh gods, Sherlock. I-" John stumbled back and caught himself on the nightstand. Sherlock stood, arms out, wanting to embrace John and have everything back to their current state of normal.

"Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Everything?"

"I, I don't know." John started past him. Sherlock wanted to stop him but felt it best not to. The jolt must have been too much. "I need time. Let me alone." John found his way to the door and rushed out of it, slamming it hard behind him. Sherlock stood in the room, looking after him, his own erection apparent and begging attention. He sat at the desk, a deep breath escaping him. He tried to calm his racing heart. The phone began its damned buzzing again. He opened the desk drawer and emptied it into its blackness and slammed it unceremoniously. He will come around. If he remembers, he will come around. I can't chase him. Damnedable sentiment. Sherlock sighed.

John collapsed on the bed in his room, the memories swimming before his eyes, tugging at his heart, at his very soul. I love him, I do. I love him deeply. I just need to process- My fucking head... It was hard to concentrate with the ache that was taking over his thoughts, derailing the momentary mind fuck he'd just received, courtesy of Sherlock Holmes. He took two of the pain pills at his bedside and gulped them down. As he lay back on the bed and allowed them to take effect, he smiled to himself. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes. Bloody hell. He felt his heart soar. He'd straighten it all out in the morning, right now he was sleepy and ready to dream a sweet dream of loving Holmes...

The phone buzzed many more times that evening as Sherlock ventured out to other areas of the facility to assist in him thinking and being out of the confines of the living quarters. The man on the other end of the phone was about to send a very blunt message. He would not have his Fox fail once more.


	35. Chapter 35

John walked slowly down the corridor towards the commons, smelling the delicious scent of cinnamon rolls and bacon and jam as he made his way down to breakfast. It had been a long, eventful, and sleepless night. He had been lucky if he thought he had received even three hours or more of rest. The pain medicine didn't exactly make him slumber, only dulled the pain in his aching head and made thoughts fuzzy and incoherent.

He dreamt of old cases and Sherlock's belligerence and Mrs. Hudson's tea and biscuits that she made from scratch with just the right amount of cream. He felt a pang of homesickness at the remembrance. How he wished they could all be back in their rightful places. Mrs. Hudson yelling at Sherlock that she wasn't and never would be his housekeeper (although she picked up here and there occasionally just to tidy up especially after the two of them had had a domestic). John being the rational head of the two when they went on to help Lestrade with a case. Sherlock being his usual rambunctious, egotistical self, ransacking the house looking for his nicotine patches or his secret supply of cigarettes if he was under an usually high amount of stress. I wonder if he's been smoking here. I haven't seen a patch on him since we've arrived. John caught himself. How would I have known if he'd had a patch on him anyway?!

John was still coming to grips with the supposive reality that he may indeed be in love with the consulting detective. His amnesia was still present, as he couldn't remember things here and there and could only get flashes or fragments, but after Sherlock's jolting kiss in his bedroom after John had confronted him, it was hard to think of little else. Surely those are just dreams, hell, even subconscious fantasies I've probably buried away in my mind due to all of the talk we receive from being flatmates. I cannot truly be shagging Sherlock Holmes...can I? John also reminded himself painfully that his friend liked to conduct experiments, even physically and emotionally stressing or damaging ones. I'd better not be a damned Sherlock mind fuck. I've got to figure this out.

John entered the commons and noticed his group were already in attendance, eating and going over the news as was Mycroft and Sherlock's way. John took a seat beside Molly, across from Sherlock, and gave his order to the help that came by to assist him. Molly was in deep thought with her phone at the time being and had barely noticed John's arrival. "Good morning, Molly." John started, clearing his throat somewhat. He glanced up from unwrapping his silverware to note Sherlock gazing intently at him over the top of his newspaper.

"Oh! Sorry! Morning!" Molly smiled at him and continued to tap away on her phone. John admired the schoolgirl blush upon her cheeks as she typed away. Molly glanced at him and giggled childishly. "Sorry. Lestrade's giving me the lowdown on anything he's found at Scotland Yard, which isn't much. Something about a little vandalism at the local cemetery but that's about it." Molly finished her text, as it would seem, and put the phone down to grab her coffee cup and sip quickly. John nodded. Perhaps there's more being exchanged between the two other than information pertaining to this. John couldn't help but smile. He was glad that Lestrade had finally decided to come out with his interest in Molly. She deserved someone good to take care of her and Lestrade hadn't had much luck with the ladies on his own either.

Sherlock was burning a hole through John's head over the top of the newspaper. John stared back at him, not a loving type gaze as perhaps Sherlock was expecting but more of an 'I'm onto you' look that Sherlock couldn't quite place. He raised his paper back up and scanned the headlines, although his mind was somewhere else. Surely John hasn't forgotten about what happened last night? Is the amnesia short term? Don't mind repeating the mind jogging again but surely...Sherlock dropped the paper once more when he heard John clear his throat and noted the look was still being given.

"Have we gotten any farther with Moriarty's crime ring, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked from his seat at the head of the breakfast table. He was patting the corners of his mouth daintily with his napkin as he had just finished.

"Two more invalids identified. I texted the details to Lestrade earlier this morning. Shouldn't take him long to procure the appropriate paperwork and bring them in." Sherlock closed the paper and folded it to set it down. He glanced at John again. John avoided his direct gaze but Sherlock could see it within his eyes. Oh, I see it now. Playing coy, hard to get...I like a challenge. Sherlock smirked, causing John to resume his full attention to him. John's brow darkened. What are you up to, Sherlock? It can't be good by any measure. Sherlock stood, catching everyone's attention but Molly's, who had resumed typing away on her phone to Lestrade.

"Going somewhere?" Mycroft frowned. He wasn't joined at the table often by his brother, or by anyone other than Molly most times, and to see his little group dismantling so quickly after the day had started was a bit unnerving.

"A bit of research to attend to, dear brother." Sherlock sarcastically grinned as he adjusted his jacket. As he was turning to leave a man came up to Mycroft and handed him a letter, speaking quietly to him. Sherlock hung around, curiosity peaked. Mycroft's already sullen look darkened as the man spoke and left them to their business. He glanced down at the letter.

"It would appear this is for you, Sherlock." Mycroft stood and handed him the letter, which was addressed to Sherlock is a brilliantly done calligraphy. "No worries, my staff has already taken the liberty of checking and x-raying the contents as to prove there are no explosives or harmful substances within the envelope." Sherlock could not help but thank his brother for being the most watchful considering the circumstances.

John watched Sherlock's nimble fingers slide under the envelope flap and rip it open, pulling a letter size piece of paper from the confines of it and flipping it open to read. His eyes darted quickly, and then he turned the letter over to show to the others. It read simply:

I will not be ignored.

Look outside.

\- M.

Mycroft called to a nearby staff member and spoke quickly to them to send out the alert and sweep the grounds. The group waiting merely a few minutes before a guard returned and spoke quietly back to his commander. Mycroft took in a deep breath. "Security reports it is safe to come and see the present our dear 'M' has left for his idol." Mycroft made to follow the soldier and the group followed him.

John followed behind Sherlock, noting the stalk of his lengthy frame, the way he moved gracefully, comfortable within his lean body. It sparked a flame within him, watching him walk, the curve of his ass within his trousers, the long smooth gracefulness of his neck with his halo of dark soft curls gracing that ingenius brain of his...I must have had something with him recently, or else my body would not be craving him in this way. I've never thought of him like this before, so perhaps...John cleared his throat unknowingly and Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at him with a smirk. John blushed, shamed that he had been admiring Sherlock's bum while walking into gods knew what was ahead of them.

They were lead out the back tunnel, the same way that John had dragged the body four days prior. There was a massive number of guards and security present as they exited through the door and out into the sunlight. John had to shield his eyes from the blinding light after being moled up in the facility without exposure to the elements for so long. When his eyes had adjusted he noted the personnel on top of the building and hidden fairly well throughout the grounds with rifles at the ready for any attack.

Mycroft was first to see it, and Molly gasped and nearly dropped her phone as she saw it next. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before approaching what lay in front of them. Sitting in the middle of the road towards the facility was a golden throne, the types Sherlock had seen used in theatrical plays and the like as a stage prop. Upon it sat the dead, bloated and partially decaying body of the late Moriarty, dressed in a king's robe and holding a scepter. It can't be. It can't be him. Sherlock neared the scene closer. The crazed look in the eyes that remained dead and unlit with any life whatsoever. The black hair, the Westwood suit and tie. A particularly large crown sat upon his skull. Sprawled out in what they hoped to be red paint as it was surprisingly bright, were the words:

In a world full of locked doors, the man with the key is king...and honey, you should see me in a crown.

"Good gods." Mycroft stood in awe of the scene. "Perhaps we may deduce that your mystery caller is not Moriarty considering?" He stood his ground although he appeared a bit green around the gills to Molly, who stood close by. She was used to looking at dead bodies, this one she had seen before and it did not phase her.

Sherlock rounded the throne, taking in all of the details, noting the blown out back portion of the head in which congealed greenish goo that was once intelligent brain matter still dripped. Moriarty was not this man. Moriarty was the man behind the mask. Some idiot man was just playing the part. Sherlock stopped and looked towards John mouthing "Oh!"

John stepped forward, noting the signs of Sherlock being on to something. "What is it? What have you figured out?" Back on the case.

"Why didn't I see it before? So very clever. So very very clever. Gave me the clue and I didn't even realize it." Sherlock was frowning, upset that he had missed something that now seemed so very obvious. He rounded the other side of the throne, hands now behind his back as he observed.

"I'm not following." John answered. Sherlock almost audibly growled.

"He doesn't like to get his hands dirty. He told me that over the phone. Hell, he even mentioned it in the darkened swimming pool. Do you see?" Sherlock's voice was rising, becoming more emphatic.

"Yes, I remember him saying that..." John nodded. How could I forget anything about that night? I was wearing a bloody designer bomb vest! He shuddered in remembrance.

"Richard Brook was fake, but not completely. Made up name, made up identity, played by a real life actor. Moriarty and Richard Brook are one and the same, but this man is not the true Moriarty. He was playing him. Both roles." Sherlock was speaking with his hands erratically. John stood staring in awe at the scene with new realization.

"The cheeky bastard. So we've never really met Moriarty." John's voice sounded far away. Molly and Mycroft were merely watching everything, taking it all in. Sherlock's jacket pocket began to buzz, the ominous "Staying Alive" flitting out and assaulting their eardrums. Sherlock looked momentarily startled, which worried John. More reason to fear the real Moriarty. Terror renewed. I know exactly how he feels.

"You've been a naughty one." The voice on the other end was Moriarty's, there was no doubt. But how could two men have the same voice? Sherlock didn't know what to think. He stayed silent and listened to the maniac on the other end as he admired Moriarty's handiwork. "Do you like my telegram?"

"I'm learning a lot about you these days." Sherlock quipped. He put a hand up to his nose, as the wind died down and the dead Moriarty's stench was beginning to reach his stomach. "I'm still waiting to find out how you pulled this one off. Although it would seem I'm speaking to someone from beyond the grave."

"No no no!" The voice on the other end was noticeably infuriated. Sherlock held the phone away from his ear as the shouting continued. "You can't decide which you like better, can you? Ordinary Sherlock, or clever Sherlock?" A deep sigh. "I'm going to be sending you some bedtime stories soon. I've been too bored as of late, especially without having you running around all over London trying to be clever. We need to keep that brain of yours from becoming more stagnant." The voice seemed a little more hopeful. "So stay put. I'll call off The Fox and the hunt for a bit and give you some breathing room." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

Sherlock hung up the phone and stared on at the dead body upon its throne. John came up beside him. "What's that then?"

"We'll be hearing from him." Sherlock placed the phone in his pocket and glanced down at John from his height above him, noting the seriousness in John's face and how he longed to take him aside and fully jog that amnesiac memory of his.


	36. Chapter 36

John was sitting in his living quarters going over the pictures taken from Moriarty's latest stunt. He was beginning to feel tired, and couldn't figure out if it was due to the painkillers he had taken to get rid of the headache he had developed over the course of the day, the two glasses of red wine he had just consumed (well after the painkillers, mind you. He was a doctor and knew better), or just the exhaustion of dealing with deadly criminals on a daily basis. I wonder how Sherlock does this, day in and day out. He rubbed his eyes, contemplating crawling into bed and leaving it all behind for the night when a knock came upon the door. "Come in!" He called, and Molly entered shyly.

"Was just checking on you." Molly smiled, her usual chipper self. John returned the smile, although weakly. She entered and eyed the bottle on the desk as well as the pictures strewn about and stood awkwardly in front of him.

"I'm doing fine, thank you. Probably going to pop in for a shower and then bed." John leaned back in the chair and yawned. Yep, sounds like my exact plan. Molly nodded.

"Okay." Molly answered and smiled then turned to leave. "Good night, Dr. Watson." She stated and left without so much as another word. John squinted at the doorway. Well, that was odd. Then again, it was Molly. John stood and went to the dresser to gather some pajamas before heading into the bathroom to gather things for his shower. Yes, a nice hot shower should do the trick. As he started the water and began to undress he couldn't help but think back to what he had remembered. He closed his eyes as images of him and Sherlock intertwined in sinful positions played in front of his eyes. He sighed as he felt that familiar sweep on fire igniting his senses and coiling up deep within his belly. He stripped down to his underwear and stood in the steamy bathroom as the memories seeped back in. I most definitely know Sherlock a lot more intimately than anyone else. John almost felt the urge to reach down and touch himself as he grew hard, and became slightly aware that someone else was doing so. He jumped and turned to note Sherlock standing within the bathroom with him, fully clothed with a charming grin upon his face.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John made to grab for a towel and found it on the other side of the bathroom behind Sherlock. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Are we going to have to go through this all over again, John?" Sherlock sighed, almost in exasperation, the grin falling into an expression of almost complete seriousness. "We've been in this position together before and I remember you rather enjoyed it. This is what you've come to call familiar territory."

"I don't doubt that, Sherlock. But I've just gotten around to remembering and even though I've got the memories it's still all quite a shock to me." John moved away as Sherlock reached for him once more. Sherlock furrowed his brow, confused almost as to why John was shying away from his touch. "It's like I'm reliving it. I don't think we jumped straight to it like you seem to think." Sherlock dropped his hand.

"You want to take it slow, is that it?" Sherlock stated. John nodded. Sherlock seemed almost pained. He looked about the room as if for an answer to some question with his mind. "How slow?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. I'm not making a game plan." John scoffed. He turned and leaned against the sink, head hanging in thought. He could not deny he did indeed want Sherlock to touch him again, but he wanted to play coy, to make Sherlock long for it as well. Always has a way of getting what he wants, what about me? "Not everything is about shagging in a relationship, Sherlock."

"You think I only want to fuck you?" Sherlock was humored. He came up and stood behind John, looking at him through the mirror above the sink, but not close enough to touch. "I'm not all about sex, John. You of all people should know this about me." John glanced up, meeting Sherlock's fiery gaze within the mirror and frowned. "Sentiment is something newly experienced with you. But it is not unknown. Hard to control, yes, but completely present in all physicalities with you, as well as the emotional exchanges." Leave it to Sherlock to make something sound so intellectual. John continued to lean.

"Okay." John spoke softly. He was hard, and was craving Sherlock's touch. "We must go slow, by my instruction. If it's too much you're going to have to stop." John stated. Sherlock nodded his agreement. "You can touch, but don't manhandle." Sherlock took the green light to slide his hand around John's waist, the touch electric, heightened, and sensual in every sense of the word. He stepped up close to John's body and slid the other arm around him in a backwards hug. Sherlock nuzzled in John's sandy hair and breathed in the scent of him. Everything he thought he had lost and everything he missed was back where he wanted it most. He stood like this for a long time before he stroked a little lower, barely brushing the length of John and hearing him sigh in response. Gods, he always knows exactly how to touch me. Sherlock brushed him repeatedly, noting the twitch within the underwear as he did so.

Sherlock nuzzled John's neck and kissed along the soft crook of it. John watched him in the mirror, noting Sherlock's closed eyes. He was touching him just right, running his fingers along the waistband of his underwear and over where John longed for him to caress. He paused with the very tips of his fingers within the band. "Okay..." John breathed and Sherlock dipped into them to retrieve and free John's cock. He ran his hands over it, stroking it, grasping it firmly and teasing it slowly, softly, barely grazing it here and there and driving John mad with sensation all the same. "I've missed you, John." Sherlock breathed into his ear as he pressed his body up against him and pinned John up against the sink. He continued to play with John antagonizing him and causing him to ache. He flushed and felt the steam within the room was too much. It was too hot.

"Stop." John called out loudly. Sherlock withdrew quickly, immediately and stepped away. John glanced up and noted the confusion within those storm cloud ridden eyes and smiled inside to himself triumphantly. I'm going to make you work at it. "I'd like to take a shower. You can stand in and wait if you'd like."

"You don't..." Sherlock started and then thought best not to finish the thought. I want you to join me, but I think this denial is going to play out better in the end.

"Not yet. Give me time. Don't leave, just give me a few minutes." John stated and removed the briefs without another thought. Sherlock's eyes were wide as he did so and John took his time walking to and getting into the shower. He peeked out of the shower curtain a few times to note Sherlock standing attentively within the bathroom, waiting as instructed. John was enjoying himself, he admitted.

Ten minutes later he emerged, dripping wet, and stood in front of Sherlock in all his starkness and held out a hand. "Towel please, Sherlock." Sherlock tried his best to keep his eyes north as he handed the plush towel to the army doctor and turned to allow him to towel off. John strode past him, still naked, ignoring the clothes he had picked out and laid upon the shelf in the bathroom. Sherlock followed him.

"Do you want to talk? About what you remember?" Sherlock started, his voice somewhat subdued. This surprised John, and as John climbed into the bed he felt a bit ashamed with the sadness in Sherlock's eyes. Damn those puppy dog eyes. Or is this a ploy to get me to think that you're actually interest in "just talking"? Clever, Sherlock.

"Not really. I'm tired. My head aches, I've had my pain medicine." Sherlock stood awkwardly, the evidence of earlier still showing very clearly within his trousers. He was trying to mentally calm himself down and finding it hard with John naked and in the bed to boot.

"I'll leave you to it then." Sherlock answered with no little amount of disappointment and made to leave. John held his hand up and Sherlock stopped, turning, hopeful.

"No, please. I don't really want to be alone. I think it would be okay if you crawled in next to me. Just for a bit. Perhaps a bit of cuddling will make things feel like they once did." John answered and turned over on his side, away from Sherlock. He glanced over to note the consulting detective quickly disrobing down to nothing and crawling in beside John. The bed dipped as he scooted up close to John, but not close enough to touch. John reached back and took his arm, pulling it up around him as he did so, and encouraging Sherlock to scoot closer to him. He could feel Sherlock's erection pressing needfully into the back of him and his own hardness answered. They lay momentarily in this way, in the silence, only their breathing could be heard and it was a rather peaceful sound. "Sherlock?"

"Mmm?" Sherlock answered, his face close to John's neck, breathing a hot moist air upon his nape, causing a shiver to run up his spine in a delicious way.

"What would you have done if I hadn't regained any memory? If I forgot completely that we-" John didn't want to finish. The butterflies were upon him in his ribcage, his stomach was tied up in fizzy knots. He had fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes, if not all over again, and wanted never to lose memory of it.

"I don't know." Sherlock answered with all seriousness within his voice. "I did not want to tell you when you awoke because I fear that Moriarty is targeting you to get at me. He somehow had guessed that you are what matters most to me and wants to hurt me in any way possible. This means you are the one thing that could completely devastate me. I was fully ready to completely cover up our relationship to keep you safe." John couldn't help but feel the surge of endorphines from Sherlock's response. He pushed his backside against Sherlock's hips and grinded ever so slightly. Sherlock's breath hitched and he answered with a thrust against him. John moved his hand down below his waist and upon him and Sherlock seized the opportunity and took hold of him as he thrusted and grinded against him. The feeling of Sherlock's impressive girth rubbing up against him in areas as well as his grasp upon his cock was exquisite.

John smiled to himself as he once again scooted away. Sherlock tried to follow him with his hips, groaning with disagreement as he did so and John rolled over to face him. Sherlock looked baffled and John relished the look. This was working out exactly how he wanted it to. I'll have you begging before it's over with, Sherlock. John couldn't help himself. The power he seemed to have over the usual dominant Sherlock Holmes was intoxicating and he didn't seem to have placated himself with it enough. "You're sending me mixed signals-"

"I told you with my instruction." John looked deep into the blue green pools that were so bright and so deep that John feared he would lose himself in them. If anyone ever had a problem trying to deduce or read Sherlock Holmes, they needed only to look into his eyes. John placed a hand on Sherlock's bare abdomen and gently pushed. "On your back." Sherlock hesitated, his dark brow twisted with confusion, not sure what exactly was going on but he obliged and rolled back, the sheet following him and his obvious need as he did so. John climbed on top of him, leaning agonizingly close to Sherlock's happy trail. John watched the detective as he slowly lowered himself, laying a warm kiss here and there down the sensitive skin below his belly button.

"Oh..." Sherlock watched, those eyes growing a bit wider, his pupils dilated, his breath a little faster. John took his time, not going any lower than his cut lines, but always with pristine warm kisses. Sherlock was aching for more, for John to go lower, or to take him, do anything with him. Sherlock reached down and ran his hand through John's sandy, soft hair. John sat up immediately. Sherlock sighed in exasperation. "What kind of trickery is this?" Sherlock was disgruntled. John kept his poker face on but inside he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Do you want this?" John asked rhetorically, as if there were any other obvious answer. Sherlock's eyes widened in exasperation. He nodded emphatically. "No, no. I know you want this. I'm talking about us. You want this to work out between us?"

Well, yes." Sherlock's face softened. He lay back against the pillow and watched John. John considered. He could end his sadistic little game now and give in as he badly wanted to and take Sherlock. He was seriously considering it as he placed his hands on Sherlock's hips, the touch causing Sherlock to groan deep within his throat and barely contain a buck of those hips. John considered. HARD. And decided against it. Its my right. He claimed me the first time around, I'll have him as I want him this time around. Someone must tame the wild wanderlust that is Sherlock Holmes, and if he truly wants me for more than just physicalities, he will have to prove it. John smirked visibly, and Sherlock could not decide if he liked that particular expression at the time being. He's going to have to suffer a little for it. John took a deep breath as he sat up and released Sherlock. Unfortunately I will have to as well. But the payoff...John had to contain himself at the thought. He rolled off of the bed, pulled on his briefs, and went to the wine bottle on the desk. Sherlock growled and grabbed the nearby pillow, smashing it over his face in desperation and frustration.

John chuckled as he poured two glasses instead of just filling his one. He handed it to Sherlock. "You're going to have to prove that it's not all about the sex then, love." Sherlock was visibly upset, but he took the glass and sipped at it, hoping it would help dull the throbbing ache in his lower regions. "And no touching yourself." Sherlock's eyes grew wide again.

"What? You expect me to refrain from- After what you just-" Sherlock seemed appalled. He gulped down the glass of red wine and made a face at the bitterness afterwards. "That's just sadistic."

"Sadomasochistic in a way. Is it not obvious that I'm wanting as well? First step, think of someone other than yourself when it comes to pleasure." John tipped his glass to this and took a drink. Sherlock stopped and considered.

"Fair enough. Although I think I've been more than thorough at making sure you enjoyed our couplings in the past." Sherlock noted. John considered. Well, from what I remember this is true. "Just tell me what it is you are expecting from me, Dr. Watson and I will do my best to comply."

"You'll do as I instruct and in my own time." John answered. He was enjoying this, he couldn't help himself. The wine was helping with the lust that still coiled like a snake ready to strike deep within his groin. Dulling the sensation, making it easier to resist. "The denial will give you a chance to prove you want a relationship and not just a physical one. The payoff will be astronomical."

Sherlock peaked his eyebrows in curiosity at that. He stood, naked and still wanting in front of John and slid his hand up behind John's head. He brought John in close and gave him a sweet, loving kiss upon his lips. John felt he could melt into it if it had continued, but Sherlock pulled away. "Just don't deny me moments such as these. I truly do feel something stronger than sentiment for you, John. I'll do as you ask." John couldn't help it. He was swimming in those pools of aquamarine once more.

As if fate hadn't planned it, a brief knock, followed by a burst through the door brought Molly into the room with a surprised O upon her face. She stared at the naked Sherlock, whom she still relished the view of. "Oh! Gods! Um, sorry!" Molly expressed embarrassment, as her face was flushed but made no movement to leave.

"You wouldn't be here Molly, if it wasn't important." Sherlock noted matter-of-factly. John couldn't argue. Molly approached, handing a large envelope to Sherlock. Upon the envelope was Molly's name.

"It was delivered to me not five minutes ago." Molly sighed as Sherlock went to open the envelope and read the clever message inside.


	37. Chapter 37

"So what does it mean? I don't understand." Molly was standing at the commons with her cardigan pulled tightly around her. The enveloped that had been addressed to her was sitting in front of her on the table, with the others gathered around within the room as what seemed to be the usual for them nowadays.

"Perhaps he's just a fan of the times." John commented, trying to suppress a grin. Why he found the message humorous he didn't know, but he couldn't help himself. Moriarty seemed to have a sense of humor after all.

Molly picked up the envelope and waved it anxiously in John's face. "Seriously though? What am I to make of this? You get fairy tales and the like and I get a popular culture reference that makes no sense to me!" Molly slammed the envelope down on the desk and stomped out of the room. John turned, feeling a little bad for being amused with the message left for her. Anything that has to do with Moriarty isn't a laughing matter...but really?! Sherlock picked up the letter that had been contained within the envelope. Mycroft watched him intently, perhaps not getting the reference.

"This is rather hard to deduce. Other than watching the movies to see if anything makes itself known. Although I think that's grasping at straws." Sherlock noted and glanced at John, who was still having a hard time containing himself. It appeared Lestrade was as well, as his face was nearly red as he suppressed a chuckle opposite John. "Mycroft? Any ideas?"

Mycroft read the single line on the letter out loud with all seriousness. "Yer a wizard, Harry." John and Lestrade burst into fresh laughter as the two brothers looked on. Sherlock did manage a smile, as seeing John amused did something fluttery to him within his stomach. Otherwise he was stumped. "Well, we all know it's a Harry Potter reference, which could relate to it being a fairy tale but otherwise I'm coming up short."

"Nothing new there, I'm afraid." Sherlock glanced at Mycroft and then set the envelope down on the desk and made to the tea cart to make a cup of cream tea. John and Lestrade's laughter died down. "You sure this isn't one of your pranks, Lestrade?"

"Oy!" Lestrade faked ire at Sherlock but found it hard to keep up the charade. "No, I wouldn't do that to poor Molly. This isn't a laughing matter, although it is quite funny. Shame on us all." Lestrade smile and chuckled a bit more. John was merely smiling now. "I've got the set at home if you'd like me to procure them so you can start trodding through them to find a clue." Lestrade stood, sighing as he did so.

"You're a Potterhead?" John snickered and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"You forget, John. I've got a litter of kids with the misses. They're all into that magic rubbish." Lestrade applied his coat and gloves and made to venture out into the cold of the elements on his way back to Scotland Yard.

"As amusing as this is, it's still a message that the so-called Moriarty has sent us from beyond the grave and it cannot be ignored." Mycroft sighed as he sipped his own tea. He had gone back to speculation on who the real caller on the phone was considering that Moriarty's body had been delivered to them on a throne outside their hideout. He couldn't help but be skeptical. Whoever was following in Moriarty's footsteps was most certainly a force to be reckoned with.

"Perhaps he hit the bottle a little to hard before thinking this one through." Sherlock shook his head, but his eyes were racing, that invisible book look once more John noted, and therefore he was perhaps taking a stroll through his mind palace to locate anything pertaining to the letter that would link them to Moriarty's next dastardly deed. He tapped the spoon on the edge of the china tea cup a few times and brought it over, handing it to John, who took it with surprise. "Sweetened cream tea, as you like it." Sherlock whispered to John as he made to move away. John watched him as he made his way back to the cart to make himself another cup. He sipped it, noting it was indeed very good and to his liking. The bastard's going to try and charm me. John grinned. He noticed Mycroft's perturbed facial expression as he watched the display between the two and nearly spit his tea out with another laugh.

Sherlock was pacing now, looking off into the distance, not noting anything of importance with the one line. Harry Potter, British written, magic, could be considered a fairy tale, that much is true. He stopped, making a bit of a connection, but he dared not speak it out loud. John's sister's name is Harriet. He calls her Harry. Surely he wouldn't go as far as to...Sherlock filed this tidbit away inside his mental mind map for quick reference later on. He hoped it wasn't true. Even if it did have something to do with Harry, why would that pertain to Molly?

The phone within Sherlock's trouser pocket pinged. Unusual. It's never done that before. Sherlock fished it out and noticed the noise had been from a text.

I made her disappear. - JM

Sherlock looked up, his face paling. John caught on quickly, something about him Sherlock usually respected, but in this case wished was furthest from the truth. "What is it?"

"I believe you need to give your sister a call." Sherlock gulped down a dry swallow. John paled as well, his tea cup beginning to clatter between it and the saucer John help beneath it with nervousness. John quickly set down his drink and fished out his own cellphone, dialing up his sister quickly and waiting. Mycroft and Sherlock observed, straightfaced, awaiting news. John looked panickedly to Sherlock.

"No answer." He ended the call and dialed another number. "Yes, Clara, it's John. Hi, sorry to bother you. Have you heard from Harry? No, no I'm not digging around for her, I'm serious. Gods, Clara can't you just tell me if you've heard from her or not, it's kind of an emergency." John stood up, army pose taking over, trying to steel himself. "Thank you." He ended the call and turned. "She's not been heard from for two days. Told mum she was taking a holiday for the weekend and didn't return as of yet." John paced, dialing his sister's number over and over again, to no avail. Sherlock felt his heart fracture a bit. Despite her alcoholism, John loved his sister and she him. Low blow, Moriarty, you sodding fucker. Sherlock's cheeks flushed red this time with anger.

"Phone your mother, find out if you can where she went to." Sherlock looked to Mycroft, who needed no instruction as he had already hopped onto the phone with his British intel to work out arrangements. John dialed his mother and took the conversation into the adjoining room. Sherlock waited, cool, calm, and collected on the outside, and yet breaking down inside awaiting John's response. John entered the room once more. "She went to Inverness." Mycroft nodded, passing on the information. "Mycroft, if you wouldn't mind. Make the necessary preparations."

"They'll kill us if we go outside the compound, Sherlock." John stated. He sat down, feeling faint, worry overtaking him.

"Moriarty said he would call off the dogs for the moment. He's bored, that's why he's doing this. He wants to keep me sharp for whatever showdown we come to next. I believe in light security, but I doubt we are going to need bullet proof glass." I hope. Sherlock put a comforting hand upon John's shoulder. John accepted it. He worried for his sister, but knew that as long as his friends were involved in the case there was a very good chance for her. Unless Moriarty decides to get sloppy and hateful because Sherlock is pissing him off.

You can't ignore him anymore, Sherlock. Promise me. That bloody phone rings you answer it." John whispered to Sherlock. He nodded. John left the room, presumably going to pack. Mycroft and Sherlock were left to themselves.

"Going on a holiday, it would seem." Mycroft sighed. He reminded Sherlock of that cartoon character off of that children's program. What was it now? Ah, yes. Winnie the Pooh. Poor Eeyore. Always so sullen.

"Would do you good, brother. You've been cooped up for too long. Do you ever get out?" Sherlock quipped.

"Not with you around lately." Mycroft smiled. Sherlock returned it. Despite their sibling quabbles and rivalry the two were very much alike. "How do you suppose he comes off calling her a wizard?"

"The text stated that he made her disappear. He's hidden her away somewhere and we merely need to find her." Sherlock glanced at Moriarty's phone, which he still held in his hand. He tapped a message back:

You have to let me know she is alive. Play by the rules. - SH

He waited. The phone pinged.

Hope John has his ringer on. No ignoring calls. You play fairly as well. - JM

Sherlock went running out of the room, much to Mycroft's surprise. He raced through the corridors towards John's room and ran inside. John was frantically packing his duffle bag, preparing for their trip to Inverness. He was mournful. Sherlock twirled him about face and fished his own phone from his pocket. "Sherlock, what-" The phone began to ring. Unknown number calling.

"Answer it." Sherlock urged.

John answered. "Hello? Oh dear gods, Harry!" Relief swept over him like a cooling wave. "Where are you? What's the last thing you remember? No, no, dear, it's okay. We're coming to find you. Stay calm-" John pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Sherlock. "We got disconnected. But she's alive, Sherlock. She's okay and alive although scared." John looked as good as he now felt. Sherlock smiled at him, glad that he could convince Moriarty to provide a little relief to his friend. John deserved that much. John could not contain himself as he pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace, which Sherlock welcomed. Any degree of touch from his lover was welcomed. Considering he was being denied so much. John released him when he realized the door was open, and went back to packing.

"I'll check with Mycroft and see where we stand." Sherlock left the room and pulled Moriarty's black phone out once more.

Well done. I shall comply and play by the rules as well. I'll try not to disappoint. - SH

He walked a ways before the phone pinged once more.

I'm a man, if not a cold hearted one. - JM

Sherlock sneered at the reply. A man who murders and maims and plays games. He replied.

Might I ask as to why you made the mistake of addressing the letter to Ms. Hooper and not to John, for whom it was obviously intended? - SH

Whatever gave you that idea? Tsk tsk tsk. Ordinary Sherlock is still struggling to figure it out it would seem. Genius Sherlock would have figured it out by now. - JM

Sherlock couldn't help but be aggravated by the response. Moriarty was chiding him. He replied once more.

Hard to make Molly disappear if you're playing by the rules as you said you would. - SH

Is that so? I said I'd call of the dogs, meaning no one will get killed. Well, at least not by a bullet. I didn't say taken. -JM

Sherlock froze, going over the last text again and again. Fuck. He took off running once more, heading in the direction of Mycroft's study to tell him to find Molly, up security, do something. He reached the office in time to see Lestrade running up from the opposite direction. He seemed frazzled and this frightened Sherlock to a certain degree. "What is it?" He asked anxiously.

"I just received a call from Molly. She was terrified. Said she didn't know where she was. She's scared, Sherlock. Where is she?!" Lestrade was manic. Sherlock's phone pinged once again.

2 down. 1 to go. Who's next? I have a thing for triplicate. I'll send you a nice postcard to help you on your way. Until then stay put. Much love, from Inverness. -JM

Sherlock stood, holding the phone, staring off into the distance. Lestrade was yelling, John was ambling up the corridor confused, his fright only slightly managed by the phone call he had received. Mycroft was standing in the doorway of the study, taking it all in but watching his brother intently within the chaos, trying to find which direction to steer them.

John sat in the common room armchair, rubbing his chin absentmindedly as he thought to himself what a predicament they were in. Harry's okay. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. Moriarty plays deadly games but at least he plays by the rules. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had consumed far too much alcohol for his liking but considering the circumstances Mycroft had forced his best bourbon upon both him and Lestrade. Lestrade resolved to take a leave of absence once more from Scotland Yard since Molly had gone missing as well. He was distraught and had finally passed out in the spare living quarters down the corridor from Sherlock and John. And not bloody soon enough. John sighed. Lestrade had been irate for most of the evening following the phone call he had received from Molly. At least she is alive as well. She's a smart girl. And Sherlock is as clever as they come. Everything is going to be okay.

"Are you alright?" The voice was soft but deep. It did things to John that were downright evil. He glanced up. Sherlock stood in front of the fireplace with its warm fire and gazed down onto John.

"As alright as one can be in my position." John slurred. He was rightfully sloshed and for some reason the mere presence of Sherlock was causing him to think irrationally. "At least I know they are okay."

"Moriarty is bored. He will not do anything to them until either a time limit is set and it runs out or he becomes irate that I'm still what he calls 'ordinary Sherlock', which I will try my best not to be." Sherlock rambled off. He was sober, but he liked the thought of John inebriated. Perhaps he's far gone enough he may need some comforting. Sherlock felt a little guilty for thinking this way, but considering it was not his sister that was taken by Moriarty, and Molly was a stubborn girl. She would give him a run for his money.

"Still a machine in so many ways." John shook his head disapprovingly. Sherlock didn't react. There was little to be deduced from John's current state. He tended to be beligerent and hateful, but also there was no holding back anything from anyone once John reached a point after drink. "But I trust you. I trust you to bring our friend and my sister out of this in at least one piece and breathing."

"I'll do so, John. You have my word." Sherlock spoke to him with that voice that moved him to ecstasy. John couldn't help but feel he wanted to take hold of Sherlock and do so many things to him, to be close to him, to be comforted. 

"You'd better." John rubbed his thighs anxiously. Sherlock's eyes wandered down and followed the movement of his strong hands upon his thighs. He was already feeling a stir as well, as inappropriate as it might have seemed. John's refusal to allow him any kind of sexual release was doing something crazy to him as well. He couldn't so much as think of John in a non business-like without fighting physical urges. He had complied and not taken control of the situation himself, although he most certainly could have. "Or else no more sex."

"John?" Sherlock's interest was peaked. He cocked his head questioningly at his lover as he sat in the armchair in front of that fireplace and gave him an evil look.

"Not even so much as a kiss or a touch. I'll deny you completely." John couldn't help but mentally high five himself. Of course he couldn't keep himself from such things, even in the event of a tragedy. Sherlock had become his rock, he was merely training him to be more receptive to what John wanted instead of his headstrong dominate self.

"You're already denying me such, well, apart from the kissing and occasional embrace..." Sherlock looked pained once more. He couldn't bear the thought of John refusing him completely. There would be no point to his existence if his army doctor denied him due to the unfortunate actions of his nemesis.

John stood and pointed his finger shakily at Sherlock, stumbling a bit but able to keep his balance. Sherlock watched him, the confused puppy eyed look still present upon his flawless face. John was thinking naughty things. "Oh, you're a bad man." John murmured, if only to himself. John took hold of Sherlock's jacket and pulled him in suddenly, locking them in a kiss of pure desire. John was quickly losing his grip on his little mind game. No, no, I can hold out a little longer. I'm not that drunk. But damn it I'm going to make him beg for it. Sherlock was shocked by the kiss, especially considering it was taking place within the commons where anyone could see. The alcohol clearly had the upper hand on John Watson.

John broke the kiss and pulled Sherlock in the direction he was headed before releasing him and walking hurriedly on ahead. Sherlock followed, no questions asked. He was beginning to think that Mycroft's bourbon was going to play in his favor and he was in no position to turn down any of John's advances. The straining within his trousers would not allow him to.

John entered Sherlock's bedroom and locked the door behind them. I'll be damned if someone else comes barging through that door at a time like this. He pulled Sherlock once more to him and Sherlock took the lead, plunging them into a downward spiral of lust as their lips met. John found it hard to keep control of the situation. Well, I never said that I would be completely denied. He smiled through the kiss, not knowing whether Sherlock realized it. He took hold of Sherlock's hands with his own as they explored each others mouths and guided them down to his zipper. Sherlock quickly unzipped and was inside, taking hold of John and touching him in all the right ways. John moaned in agreement.

Sherlock longed for John to return the favor, but didn't want to push his luck. He ached within the confines of his trousers. He'd never felt a need so begging for attention before. Whatever game you're playing, John, it's a damned good one. Sherlock upped the ante and grasped John's erection firmly to begin slowly pumping him. The pressure was phenomenal. John broke the kiss and allowed Sherlock to walk him backwards to the bed and sit him down without ever releasing him or stopping his slow, teasing strokes. Sherlock lowered himself to his knees and John watched as he freed John's cock from his trousers and admired it for a second. John nodded to him, panting, throbbing within Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock didn't hesitate to take him fully into his mouth and begin sucking and teasing.

"Fuck sake, Sherlock!" John cried out as his tongue grazed his tip and continued its slippery assault upon him. He threw his head back and took in every sensation, every lick, every stroke. Sherlock was quickly becoming a pro at pleasuring John. John opened his eyes to observe his lover, watching his free hand twitch as he guessed Sherlock longed to take hold of himself as well. The bulge within his trousers was very apparent. John almost felt bad for what was about to happen. He was quickly coming close to his release. He lost himself in the sensation and the pleasure and moaned Sherlock's name as he came. Sherlock released him only after John regained his breath and looked down at him as he grinned.

"Brilliantly done, Sherlock." John smiled. He positioned himself back within his pants and zipped up the zipper, pulling Sherlock up into his arms from the floor and embracing him lovingly. Even so soon after his release, he felt himself twitch at the feeling of Sherlock's rock hardness pressing against him as they held each other close. "Right." John released him and stood, heading into the bathroom. Sherlock turned and sat on the bed, staring after John in disbelief. John came back out and almost, ALMOST felt guilty at Sherlock's entire demeanor. Shoulders slumped in disappointment, a grudging look upon his face. "Why so glum?"

Sherlock looked at him in a way that almost made John's blood run cold. He was disappointed, and obviously in need of some sort of release. John sighed. "Sometimes its about the other person, Sherlock. Sometimes it's better to give than to receive. And you did amazingly well. Don't give up now!" John stated.

"That was so fucking stimulating..." Sherlock answered and ran both hands through his curly hair in frustration. "And so amazingly painful at the same time." His hand wandered down to his crotch and then quickly fluttered away as he glanced at John. He wants to so badly but he won't because he doesn't want to mess anything up with me. John's heart leapt a bit as he considered.

"Since you're following all of the rules..." John started, "I'll allow you to come." Sherlock's head shot up and his eyes were bright with that familiar passionate fire. "But, no entry. Skin on skin, and I'm not going to be touching you back. Fair?" Sherlock nodded his head anxiously. He craved any sort of touch with John, especially after John playing hard to get with him. Never before the past few weeks had sex been ever present on his mind. It was the closest he could physically come to being with John. It was like a drug.

John undressed, slowly, just to be naughty and extend the pleasure a bit as Sherlock watched. Sherlock did the same, quickly undressing like a lustful schoolboy. John lay down upon the bed and Sherlock crawled on top of him. He was rock solid and John figured it would not take long for this to be over with. Sherlock positioned his erection up against John's pelvis and began to slowly grind. The feeling wasn't as amazing as it felt when John had hold of him or whenever he deep within him, but it was exquisite nonetheless. He bent to kiss, thought better of it, but John lifted his head to welcome him and they kissed as Sherlock grinded against him. Sherlock was quickly approaching the cliffside of his orgasm and as long as he wished to relish the moment he needed release and so he began to grind faster and faster. John broke his own rule and reached up, running his hands upon Sherlock's lower back and lean shoulders, pulling him in closer, and only then did Sherlock topple over the brink and come with a loud cry. He collapsed on top of John, breath ragged and hot, body trembling from the after effects. Gods, that was intense. Sherlock thought to himself. Is this part of what John has in mind? Denial to the point that any release feels ten times as good? Clever man.

Sherlock raised up on his arms, looking into John's eyes. John was smiling. He still had his little victory, and Sherlock was learning to play along. "I suppose thanks are in order." Sherlock breathed. John nodded. Sherlock climbed off of him and grabbed a nearby towel from the bathroom to clean them both up.

The men dressed and retired once more to the commons, this time to discuss their upcoming arranged trip as one of the guards approached them both with two envelopes. "They've been examined already, sirs. For your protection." The guard stated, handing one envelope to Sherlock and one to John. Their names were written upon them in the same calligraphy. Sherlock and John exchanged a knowing look before ripping them open to view their contents.


	38. Chapter 38

"Not such a bad trip." John commented as he looked out the bullet proof glass of Mycroft's black car. They had been traveling for quite some time now, all the way up to Inverness from their safehouse. John had to admit it made him a little nervous for him and Sherlock to be out in the open with Moriarty's crazies running around. Hell, there's no reason why he probably couldn't have waltzed into the facility and murdered us all in our sleep the way things have been happening. John and Sherlock had learned to expect the unexpected with Moriarty. He had a way of manipulating people into doing his bidding, in the case of the two no deceased guards that had attacked Lestrade and Mycroft in the tunnel to the outside.

Sherlock sat next to him, leg nonchalantly touching John's, as Mycroft sat across from them asleep with both hands upon his umbrella. John observed that he was in fact unconscious before he nudged Sherlock's leg in an affectionate way. Sherlock's attention was on him almost immediately. John smiled at him, glad for the time with him, and for the shameful flirting they were starting to do out in public. Sherlock had become so distracted he dropped his envelope into the floorboard. John took the opportunity to bend forward and place his hand on the inside of Sherlock's thigh and run his hand sneakily up towards his crotch as he bent to retrieve it for him. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath at his touch and eyed John through narrowed eyes as he accepted the envelope back. I'm not sure what to make of you exactly. Sherlock could not help but note that he was in fact extremely confused and not the least bit amused by John's current treatment of him.

Sherlock couldn't deny that he was used to getting what he asked for, usually lobbying his intellect and deduction skills with promise of solving whatever what placed in front of him for whatever he wanted. With John, at least this time around, he wasn't able to do so, and it was driving him mad. I had him almost instantly first time around. Although this was true, Sherlock noted that pure sentiment and the emotional tsunami they were all experiencing at the time had a lot to do with how quickly John took to the idea of being with Sherlock as more than just a companion. Why can I not put my finger on why he is making me slow down and take things easy? The denial of affection and sexual tension is driving me half mad. Makes it hard to think. Perhaps I could bring this up? "I need to concentrate to find your sister and Molly. So stop playing funny little games, John." No, no. That wouldn't be fair. Although it is at least partly true. Sherlock sighed as he glanced down at the envelope within his hands. He pulled out the contents and looked it over once more.

The envelope beautifully calligraphied with Sherlock's name upon it contained yet another fairy tale card. When opened, it revealed an artful drawing of a woman with a photo of Molly Hooper's face wearing a blood red hood that trailed down to the ground. The woman was being led with her hands tied deep inside the woods by a man in a wolf suit. The words read:

Little red riding hood failed to heed the words of those close to her and wandered from the path.

The big bad FOX has her in his clutches.

Inverness.

The card was not one of Moriarty's most masterful but it got the point across. Molly had been taken by Moran, is all Sherlock could cleverly deduce. She had been taken from the facility and was now to play the part of Little Red Riding Hood. Whose grandmother gets eaten by a wolf and then she herself gets eaten. Unless the lumberjack comes to her aid. Sherlock shook his head. Normally he had a deep respect for puzzles, riddles, and the like. When playing with Moriarty he was growing quickly to despise them.

John clutched his own envelope. That of which when opened had revealed a card that when opened popped up a large cut out of a majestic tree with blood red apples hanging from him. Below the tree a female hand stuck out of the earth, clutching an apple with a bite taken out of it. The words scrawled upon this card read:

There once was a princess who ate from the tree of knowledge and was buried with the weight of the price it bore.

Inverness. Before she disappears forever, six feet under.

Sherlock had heard of the tale before, perhaps as a child. The tale of the Elves and the Princesses. Sherlock had refrained from going too far into detail as he hoped that he and John would be able to discuss it more when they reached their destination.

They seemed to have arrived as the car slowed. Mycroft snored softly before the stalling of the engine woke him. He gazed sleepily at the two that sat across from him before glancing out the window. "Ah, we are here." He waited for the valet to open the door and the guards to assemble about them for them to exit. The three made their way inside the rock architectured mansion and followed Mycroft. He showed them the various rooms of the house, perhaps for show, and then led them down to the basement. Underneath the house ran a series of tunnels as well as a fully functional mansion underneath the foundation.

Mycroft removed his coat and gloves as he explained. "The lower half is not known by any other than those who own the building as well as those that we have brought down here with us. It is a decent cover for being exposed. If Moran and Moriarty can infiltrate our previous surrounds, then this is litte more than that. Let's hope that he does indeed play by the rules." Mycroft frowned at his brother. Sherlock and John looked about the place. Mycroft's phone pinged and he checked the text. "Ah, it would seem Lestrade has arrived. I'll be back shortly." Mycroft took his leave.

"Seems we are getting the full underground tour of Britain's safest places to hide from the criminally insane." John joked as he explored the current room beneath the large stone estate above them. Sherlock only watched him, interested in little else.

"Precisely." Sherlock added, his voice soft, guarded. He was having a hard time choosing his words correctly when speaking to John, as if he worried the wrong combination of them would ruin any chance of being fully connected with him again. John shook his head, but with a smile upon his face. I almost feel bad. Sherlock seems so baffled by this entire power play. John was enjoying every minute of it. Every confused eyebrow, every sidelong glance, every longing, light touch they exchanged.

Mycroft returned with Lestrade in tow. John frowned upon seeing their friend in such a rough state. He was obviously very worried for Molly, and perhaps for Harry as well. Being Detective Inspector is rough enough on your conscience. Now having your friend and possible girlfriend turn up missing as well all because Sherlock exists must double that stress. John took his hand and shook it. Of course last night's binge didn't help any I'm sure. Must have a hell of a hangover.

"I'll let everyone know now, that despite the size of the mansion above, we are limited for space down here. There are only two bedrooms, a study, a kitchen, and the commons, despite the tunnels which run out towards the moor for a fire escape." Mycroft explained.

Sherlock was quick to jump on this one. "Fine. John and I can share one quarters. We are used to the close confines anyway." He stepped up, hands behind his back. John stifled a chuckle and the face that would have gone with it. Lestrade nodded.

"Fair enough. I can either bed up in the study unless Mycroft is averse to sharing a room." Lestrade answered. Mycroft shrugged.

"Either is fine. Shall we?" Mycroft motioned towards the study and the group followed. Once inside, the cards were laid out in front of them. "What are we to make of these, Sherlock?"

"Obviously Moriarty means for John to locate his sister. I am meant to locate Molly." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Is Moriarty attempting to play matchmaker? He already seems to know that John and I are a coupling. Perhaps because the sister/brother aspect plays together too well. "They are taken from fairy tales, as has been the trend up to now."

"Molly is most definitely Little Red Riding Hood." Lestrade pointed out. Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes at the blatancy of this remark. "I don't understand why she was taken."

"The guards state that they saw her on her down to the corridor speaking with one of the other guards. That was the last they saw of her." Mycroft added as he leaned upon the desk and observed the cards.

"In the story of Little Red Riding Hood, she doesn't listen to her mother, strays from the path to her grandmother's and is met by the big bad wolf. The wolf goes on ahead, eats the grandmother, fakes being her, and then swallows her whole." Sherlock explained. Lestrade gulped audibly. "If not for the lumberjack who cuts him open and rescues her, she would have died." Sherlock glanced at Lestrade.

"In this case, of course, there is no big bad wolf, but a big bad fox. Moran must have her." John spoke up. Sherlock nodded. Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "So, Sherlock. You're a lumberjack in this story?" John asked.

"I rather believe that Lestrade is the knight in shining armor this time around." Sherlock patted Lestrade on the back. Lestrade blushed at the mention but did not deny it. "Moriarty must have been watching, listening, taking in intel. He must know that you and Molly have been talking." There was that pang of something strange within Sherlock's chest when he spoke these words but he willed it away as he always had.

"We have nothing to go on but these cards." Lestrade stated. Sherlock couldn't help but agree with this but he figured he had a way of figuring out the next step. He pulled out Moriarty's phone and texted:

Arrived in Inverness. Chess pieces neatly in place. - SH

He began to place the phone back into his pocket when it pinged back. It was an audio file. Sherlock played it. The song "Little Red Riding Hood" by Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs lilted out of the phone speakers. "It seems that Molly is our first priority. Sherlock awaited more information, but none came. Bastard. He's not going to make his move until he is good and ready. Sherlock texted him once more.

Patiently waiting. Play by the rules. Perhaps I can take down one more of your spider web threads before you answer me back. - SH

Tempting Moriarty was risky but Sherlock felt worth it. The phone began to ring. John glanced up eagerly, as did Lestrade. Sherlock answered it and placed it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Sherlock! Oh gods..." Molly was tearful on the other end of the phone. Sherlock closed his eyes in a silent thankfulness and relief that she seemed fairly unharmed. "I'm okay, I'm okay just I don't know where I am..."

"Can you tell us anything?" Sherlock started and Lestrade interrupted.

"Molly, we're here, we're going to find you and that sodding bastard is going to pay if he harms any hair upon your head." Lestrade was angry, flushing red with ire as he spoke. Sherlock nearly took a step back as Lestrade had neared the phone.

"Just hurry! Please-" The phone cut off. The room was tense, but Sherlock and John exchanged a relieved look.

"Lestrade, at least we know she's alive and not harmed. It's an insurance policy." Sherlock attempted to reassure the Detective Inspector. He shot Sherlock a deadly stare.

"Mate, I'm your friend. I've defended you through thick and thin so don't take me the wrong way. Molly doesn't deserve this but she's in this predicament partly because of you simply breathing. You'd better do your best to find her and quickly." Lestrade strode out of the room before his temper overtook him.

Sherlock looked after him a bit taken aback. "I can't do anything until I'm given something to go on..." Sherlock turned to Mycroft and John. John nodded. At least John understands. John gets me. Sherlock came up to the desk once more and examined the other card.

"Harry's story is taken from the fairy tale of the Elves and the Princesses. Of course, in this case there is only one princess, not three. They eat the fruit of a tree their father loves so much that he has placed a curse upon it that whoever harms it shall be buried beneath the earth." Sherlock explained. He pointed to the words on the bottom of the page. "It says she ate from the tree of knowledge. I have a feeling she delved into something or came across something that would have exposed Moriarty to us and therefore he has tried to bury her so she won't tell."

"Literally?" John's face was serious and sullen. Sherlock nodded. John observed the hand coming out from underneath the tree and remembered to breath.

Moriarty's phone rang once more. Sherlock answered it quickly. "Let go of me you bloody fucker or I'll-" Muffled cries on the other end of the phone. John was beside Sherlock in a flash.

"Harry?!" John asked into the phone. More muffles, and a man yelping in pain. "John? John, it's Harry. I've been kidnapped and-"

"I know, dear. Can you see anything? Tell me anything?" John asked quickly. He knew he wouldn't have much time. Silence, some more muffled words. "No, I can't, they've got me blind folded. Call the police, love. I'm frightened."

"I know, sis. The authorities are on it, I promise. I'm going to find you, no worries." John finished right before the phone clicked off. He dropped his head to regain himself, to calm the shaking he had developed. "At least she still has that fighting spirit." John managed a smile. Sherlock eased up a bit and placed the phone back into his pocket. It pinged once more. He withdrew it

Fair is fair. Tomorrow will begin the countdown. No moves until then. Nighty night. - JM

Sherlock sighed and put the phone away. "We won't be receiving any more information tonight." Sherlock spoke with a troubled demeanor. John shook his head.

"It's okay. At least we know they are both okay." John tried to reassure himself. "So what to do until then?"

"We wait." Mycroft spoke up, leaning upon his umbrella, staring at the cards on the table with a look of growing concern.

"Two cases at the same time, and both cryptic. But it can and will be handled." Sherlock spoke, glancing once more at John as he gathered the cards together and placed them in their corresponding envelopes.

"I've never been a very patient man." John stated. Sherlock sniffed at that. Patient enough to drive your lover stir crazy is all. Sherlock mentally kicked himself. He was being insensitive to his own situation and that wasn't fair. He shouldn't expect much out of John in the way of intimacy on this trip. He tried to push the thoughts away.

"Right then. Tea?" John peeked out of the study and down the short hallway towards the kitchen. Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a look before following.

Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade spent the rest of the evening discussing the city of Inverness, possibilities of where the women could be taken, and the like. Dinner was eaten quietly within the kitchen before Mycroft produced once more his liquor. He encouraged the boys to drink to ease tensions. All but Sherlock partook rather heavily of the alcohol, looking to quench their uneasiness. Mycroft seemed to be a bit on edge as well, and this surprised Sherlock. Perhaps he cares for Molly the same way that Lestrade does? Sherlock couldn't place why everytime he mentioned Molly in the presence of other men he felt a strange twinge deep within him. He felt nothing for her in a romantic way, as his focus was all on John. Yet the feeling remained...

Sherlock had managed to procure a few things from the guards to use at his disposal and ventured into the shared bedroom of his. John sat in the rather large room looking over the card with the tree. He was staring rather hard at the hand beneath the tree, sticking up from the ground, the half eaten apple within its palm. "Anything coming to you?" John raised his head at the voice, regarded Sherlock as he entered and shut the door behind him (locking it, John also noted), and laid the card upon the nearby table.

"No, nothing of interest. I'm rather nervous to see what Moriarty comes up with. I hope you are ready to be on your game." John breathed out shakily. He was tired, but the curiosity of the items within Sherlock's hands seemed to revive him. "What have you there?"

Sherlock laid the rope and zip ties upon the table beside John. "I procured these so that we may practice escaping. Have you ever been trussed up and not able to escape?" Sherlock was asking matter-of-factly.

"No, I don't believe I have. Not even in the army. They don't really train you to escape from zip ties." John picked one up and looked it over. "Have you?"

"Rope mainly. Never zip ties. Considering there may be a few tricks here and there as I never completely trust Moriarty, it can't be bad to try. I've had some practice. Lestrade gave me a few pointers." Sherlock placed his hands in his pockets and regarded the bottle of whiskey on the table nearby. "May I?"

"Of course." John slid the bottle closer and leaned back to reach and extra tumbler from behind him. Sherlock poured them both a glass and he sipped his as he stared at the lengths of rope and zip ties he had placed upon the table. John was watching him. Did he plan this in the hopes that this may turn into something else? Or is he truly trying to prepare for something? John grinned slightly. An opportunity was presenting itself. Perhaps tonight will end the denial. We will see just how far Sherlock will let me take this.

"Well, let's see if he's taught you anything." John stood, selecting a length of rope from the table and holding it up in front of him. Sherlock's face dropped.

"I much hoped I could teach you..." Sherlock stuttered. John regarded his look of surprise with humor.

"See one, do one, teach one. Ever heard of it?" John was running the rope through his hands. Sherlock was watching and swallowing. Ah, I think he's getting the idea. "Right, hands behind your back." Sherlock's eyes met his. He was watching him carefully. He turned and put his hands behind his back as requested. John tied them up in a rather tight but easily escapable knot. "Okay. Go."

Sherlock turned back around to face him, his arms working behind him. The rope fell to the ground within seconds. John smiled, acting taken aback and impressed. "See?"

"Okay, okay. Let's try this." He stepped forwards, pushing Sherlock's coat off of his slender shoulders and laying it across the chair. Sherlock's eyes began to brighten with that familiar fire. He turned his back to him once again and John tied the rope about his hands with a different knot, this one progressively harder. When he was finished, he turned Sherlock to face him once more and stood back, arms crossed, awaiting his escape.

This knot was proving harder for Sherlock than the last. "Not so easy this time?" John stepped closer, his voice lower, his hands reaching out and taking Sherlock by the waist, slowly pulling his dress shirt out of his trousers. Sherlock's eyes displayed surprise, but not dislike. He worked a bit harder. John was unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly. Sherlock wiggled and squirmed as John touched him softly, teasing him with light feathery strokes. His chest was rising and falling a little faster. John reached down for the button on his trousers when Sherlock's hands flew up, the rope coiled onto the ground behind him. Sherlock took hold of John's strong jaw softly and led him into a loving kiss. He wished to kiss him more passionately, but was trying to contain himself for him and John's sake.

"One last knot." John whispered into his ear, causing shivers to run the length of Sherlock's spine. He traced the line of Sherlock's jaw with his thumb in an affectionate gesture. They were so close, Sherlock wished to reach out and take hold of John, but resisted. He was becoming more able to do so, although he was already straining through his trousers.

"Okay." Sherlock answered in the same breathy voice, deep and low, resonating through all of John's most sensitive areas as he spoke. John took hold of Sherlock's hand and led him beside the bed. He paused, raising Sherlock's hands up and placing them behind his head as if he were in a hold up. John couldn't help but reminisce of this same pose when they were in Irene's living room not too many months previous. Don't you want me on the floor too? Sherlock had asked the CIA gunmen that were holding them hostage at the time being. John hadn't realized it at the time, but that resonated as something extremely suggestive and he hardened at the thought. John worked once more on Sherlock's trouser button and zipper, sliding them off quickly and standing to admire Sherlock in only his underwear. He looked so submissive in a way, and John was beginning to think that perhaps this was how their sexual relatioship was progressing. At one time he was the dominant, and now I am. We take turns.

John maintained eye contact with Sherlock as he himself undressed. Sherlock's eyes watched him hungrily, his excitement very noticeable as he took in John's muscular form as he stripped. I just want to touch him, to reach out and take him into my arms and love him, drink him in. Sherlock's face showed his dismay at being denied the ability to do as he wanted, but he was enjoying the view nonetheless.

John approached him once more, reaching out and cupping him with his hand as he ran his hand up upon Sherlock's neck and pulled him in for closed mouth kisses. Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, trying extremely hard not to grind against John's hand. John's hands moved while they remained liplocked, and before Sherlock knew it, John had him upon the bed and zip tied to the bedpost. Sherlock admired John's handiwork and gave him a rather impressed grin as John climbed on top of him on the bed. "You've got less than five minutes to escape. If you succeed, you can have me. No holding back." John stated. Sherlock's eyebrows raised considerably at this proposition. "If you fail, I'll continue to tease and deny you for as long as I like, and you must comply." John was planting moist hot kisses along the crook of Sherlock's neck as he spoke. Sherlock moaned as he did so, and sucked in a breath as John circled his nipple with a warm, wet tongue. "Go."

Sherlock began to wiggle and squirm and writhe his arms and hands about in his attempt to escape. John smiled to himself, continuing to tease and stroke him, his own erection rubbing frustratingly up against Sherlock's thigh. He's not going to be able to do it, but if he succeeds I'll allow it. He's behaved himself quite well and honestly...I don't think I can take it anymore either. John was mentally counting down as he slowly progressed down Sherlock's body. 20 seconds...10 seconds...

John barely realized what was happening until Sherlock had him on his back on the bed, Sherlock nestled firmly on top of him, panting, his eyes ablaze. "Bloody hell." John sighed. "No holding back." John took in a breath before Sherlock assaulting his mouth with his tongue, craving, wanting, exploring. Their hands were upon each other in a frenzy. Sherlock was already exploring John's opening, causing John to gasp and groan with desire.

I want this to last forever but this isn't going to take long I fear...was Sherlock's last thought before his mind went fuzzy with lust. He had prepared John with two fingers and the man was practically writhing upon the bed at his touch. He took hold of John and turned him over onto his belly, pulling his hips to him and positioning himself. John leaned backwards, trying to impale himself wanton upon Sherlock's cock, and Sherlock complied, thrusting inside of him hard. John cried out a string of curses that were not angry but laced with passion and Sherlock took hold of John's hips and began to thrust with wild abandon. John allowed himself to go along for the ride, his mind blurring with the ecstasy of their lovemaking. Sherlock filled him up completely with one last hard thrust and the couple came together loudly. Sherlock leaned tiredly over John's body, attempting to catch his breath, their bodies slick with sweat and smelling of sex.

John moved out from underneath him and turned, but was once again pulled into long, lean arms and held in a frantic embrace. The two sat this way for sometime, synchronizing their breathing and slowing their rapidly beating hearts. John felt he never wanted to let go of Sherlock ever again. This is where I belong, he truly cares. I need no one else.

Sherlock ran his hands through John's sandy, soft hair and breathed him in. He had proved himself surely. John wouldn't make a bet like that if he hadn't wanted me to be able to take control. He shut his eyes tight. If I were to lose you, John...

The two finally let each other go long enough to pull the sheet about them. They lay back, John curled about Sherlock's lengthy body as Sherlock pulled him closer with one arm about him. In this way they fell asleep, awaiting Moriarty's next influx of cryptic information. There would be little of peaceful nights to come in the next few days.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly awakens her senses to where she is being held. John and Sherlock receive their clues to Molly and Harry's locations.

Chapter 39

 

Molly awoke to a nightmare she hoped she had only been dreaming. Nothing but blackness met her vision, as she found out she was still blindfolded. Her other senses assaulted her full force. She smelled what she could only describe as the irony scent of what she hoped was not blood. The metallic tinge of it in the air terrified her. Her hands were still bound behind her back, tying her to something metal that she couldn't quite place. She was seated on something soft yet firm, which could only be a mattress. Perhaps I'm tied to a bed. Molly's fears assaulted her all at once. She had been taken, blindfolded and hooded, tied up, her clothing changed, and then brought to wherever it was that she currently resided and tied here. If I'm tied to a bedframe, what is it they mean to do with me?! She struggled a bit, noting that she couldn't move much more than she had been able to the last time she was awake.   
Molly had dreamed of waking up in her bed, in her flat. Not a care in the world. She had prepared for her day of work at St. Bartholomew's, gone in and done her work on a few postmortems, and even assisted Sherlock and John on a case. Suddenly she'd been jolted awake and had found herself once more in this nightmare of not knowing where she was, who was with her, or what would be done with her. What was it that woke me? Molly had taken in every sense except her hearing. What she heard truly terrified her.

She could hear something moving about the room. Something rather large, something feral, although she wasn't sure exactly what. It growled, it breathed raggedly, it grumbled from deep within its chest. It seemed to be circling her, and she didn't know how close whatever it was could truly get. She broke out anew into a cold sweat. It's some sort of animal, but is it going to eat me? Am I going to be eaten alive by something? Moriarty will surely give Sherlock plenty of time to figure something out and come rescue me. Or will he even allow Sherlock to come after me this time? Molly began to sob, utterly terrified by the sounds within the room that she guessed held her, the scent of something primal and bloody, and the restriction of her restraints.

Sherlock had burst into the room as John was pulling on his jeans, John only flinched momentarily. "What have you got?" He asked, as surely the consulting detective had come up with something or else he wouldn't have burst in in such a way. Sherlock swung the door shut behind him and took John's face into his hands, leading him into a deep kiss. He broke it off with a smile. "Well, good morning to you as well." John felt the familiar longing stirring within him but he fought the urge. Not every second of the day could be spent in bed with your lover. There were people who needed saving. My sister is one of them and here I am carrying on like a horny teenager. John allowed the guilt to overtake him.  
"Our first clue from Moriarty in regards to Molly." Sherlock showed him the text. John took the phone and observed it:

I've arranged for two tickets to a lovely bed and breakfast. It's called Over the River, Through the Woods. Fitting, wouldn't you say? You can thank me later. - M

 

John glanced up. It seemed to easy. "So, we need to find this bed and breakfast and then we'll find Molly?" He questioned. 

"I suppose there's only one way to find out. Moriarty will leave something far more clever for me to figure out than a name. He's merely entertaining himself by following along with the entire Little Red Riding Hood fairy tale." Sherlock turned heel and nearly flew out of the room to tell Mycroft of his informative text. John quickly followed. 

Sherlock had stopped not far from Mycroft's office. He glanced up at John, worry upon his face. "What? What's wrong?" John felt something catch within his chest. 

"It seems Moriarty intends to separate us." Sherlock stated in all seriousness. He didn't like the idea at all. He handed the phone to John and let him read the next text:

This one's for Johnny boy. You're first clue to your beloved sister. What is as light as a feather but even the world's strongest man couldn't hold it for more than a minute? Answer quickly. - M

 

John didn't understand. He'd never been brilliant at riddles. He thought for a moment and glanced at Sherlock. "Breath." Sherlock nodded. "Oh gods, do you mean....." Is he going to suffocate her? Sherlock had typed the response into the phone and it pinged almost immediately.   
Good, good. Second clue: What has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps, can run but never walks, has a bank but no money? - M

 

Sherlock glanced once more at John, whose mind was quickly racing to solve the riddle. He perked up moments later. "A river!" Sherlock typed in the answer, agreeing.

Perhaps being Sherlock's companion has done well for you. Correct. You'll find your next clue near one. Start looking. 8 hours remaining. Tick tock! - M

 

"Oh gods, Sherlock. 8 hours. He's going to suffocate my sister. How can we save both Molly and Harry?" John was becoming panicked. Lestrade entered the room. Sherlock took him by the arm.

"Lestrade and I will go after Molly. You take a few of the best guardsmen and go after Harry. Take your phone, keep it on. And for gods sake, stay in touch." Sherlock shoved Lestrade off in the direction of Mycroft's office and he gladly obliged once he had caught on. John watched after him, noting Sherlock turning back with a a look that stilled his heart. He's afraid. He's afraid I'll be taken or worse. John had no time to waste. He set to finding his entourage immediately.   
Tick tock...

This is in fact a very short chapter and for that I apologize. I promised you something tonight and therefore I'm giving it to you. Next chapter will be action packed, this I promise. It's been a long and rather busy weekend. I didn't want to disappoint by not posting.

So forgive me if this chapter is less than thrilling. I hate to disappoint.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Molly was finally free. She'd worked her hands for what seemed like hours until they were tender and raw and probably bloody, but she was free from her restraints. She quickly worked at the hood and blindfold and tore it off. She held her eyes closed for a moment, expecting some sort of attack on her for freeing herself, but none came. Do I really want to see where I am? Do I really want to face what's in store for me? Molly forced herself to open her eyes and look about.

Molly sat on an old mattress in a rotten, decrepit bedroom. Trees and plants were growing up the walls, through the ceiling and through the broken windows. Tattered lace curtains ruffled in the breeze. The air was chilled, but a little light shown through. It's got to be at least afternoon by the telling of the sun. Molly told herself. She glanced down. There was no sign of whatever had been inside the room with her.

She realized that she had not been tied to a bedpost, rather she had been tied to a rather rusty cage that she sat within. The cage was large enough for her, and left little room for movement. She also would not have been able to stand up within the cage if she had wanted to. She ran her hands about it, realizing that here and there the cage was rusted through. How easy it would be for me to just kick a couple of these bars in and I'd be free. Surely it's a set up. Molly glanced down at her hands as she touched the metal and caught her breath. She knew there would be blood, as her hands were covered in it. Raw, red marks circled her wrists were her hands had been bound. What bothered her most was that the blood went all the way up her arms, as well as covered her legs. Oh gods, that's not my blood...Molly was slathered head to toe in blood. Whether it was animal or some other poor soul's she wasn't sure. She felt nauseated. Panic overtook her. She leaned back against the cage and kicked at one rotten bar furthest away from her.

Instantly, a gutteral growl filled the room. Molly froze. The animal remained in the room, and had been lying down on the floor possibly sleeping. When it rose from below the foot of the bed, Molly viewed the largest black wolf she had ever seen. It's lips were pulled back to reveal two rows of sharp white teeth, and a pink tongue that lashed out here and there the slick the saliva from its jowls. It eyed her with contempt and perhaps a bit of fear. Molly glanced at the door to the bedroom, which had been boarded up. The windows themselves were grated over with metal screens. I'm trapped in this room with a wolf. A very hungry wolf it would seem. It's as easy for it to get in here to me as it is for me to get out. Molly finally realized she had been holding her breath and let it out with a sob. She could only hope that Sherlock was close to finding where she was if he had been given the chance. She stared down the wolf as her mind raced.

Sherlock was tapping his fingers nervously upon his knee as he and Lestrade rode in one of Mycroft's commissioned cars. He was upset. He hardly had a clue to go on and now Mycroft had been so kind as to inform the two of them that there was no such place as Over the River, Through the Woods within the confines of Inverness or the whole of Great Britain for that matter. "There's got to be something to go on, Sherlock." Lestrade was uptight, notably so, but he was trying to keep his calm as well.

"It has to be a place that at least at one time existed." Sherlock rubbed his chin in thought with his other hand. He whipped out his phone and searched for public records noting a place of that name. He found none. He had commissioned the driver to take them out into the country, to search every noted bed and breakfast for clues or at least for someone who might know of this so named place. They had visited eleven so far, and the day was wearing thin. He wasn't sure exactly how much time or what situation Molly had been placed in, but a minute wasted not knowing where to head was a minute closer to her possible demise. Lestrade will have my head if that occurs. I'm worried for her too, though. He tapped faster, distracted upon his knee.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelped as he pointed out the window. Sherlock flew out of his seat to look in the direction that Lestrade had been pointing. He spied a sign hanging faded and haphazardly on an old metal pole, nearly obscured by vegetation. In barely legible cursive, it read Over The River, Through The Woods country B&B with a large black arrow pointing in the direction they were heading. "There it is!" Lestrade leaned, knocking on the separation between driver and passenger and barked orders. The car sped up following his instructions, and, as Sherlock hoped, quickly towards Molly Hooper.

They arrived at a cattleguard not fifteen minutes later in the middle of the country. The road was nearly overgrown but noticeable as it lead through the overgrowth and to a decrepit building not a half mile down the road. Sherlock and Lestrade pulled their guns, the driver and guard following suit. Sherlock's phone rang. Mycroft. He answered. "We've found it."

"Do be careful. I will send an extra unit in your direction." Mycroft answered and hung up. Just wanted reassurance that I'd be safe? Mycroft is indeed becoming soft. Sherlock scoffed and raised his gun, following Lestrade's lead as they neared the building. It had probably been abandoned for many years from the looks of it. The blue wooden outside was faded and rotting away, windows busted out, vegetation taking over all aspects of the once quaint little bed and breakfast. Lestrade sent the two guards around one side, he and Sherlock taking the other side. As they circled about, Sherlock instantly noticed a difference. Those windows on the top story are grated over, none of the others are. What trickery is this? He motioned to Lestrade to lean closer and pointed to the windows. Lestrade radioed to the guards, and they took to the back entrance, kicking the door in as they went.

Molly sat staring down the ever hungry wolf. It was getting braver, coming around the side of the cage to smell her. She feared she probably smelled delicious covered in all of that blood with her body warmth diffusing the smell about the room. How long had they been keeping a wild caught wolf in this room? Perhaps to prepare for her? She needed to escape and quickly. She turned to the other side of the cage and kicked at one of the bars. The wolf growled once again, racing over to the other side that she was kicking at, perhaps hoping to catch her leg if it came through. She screamed, terrified, but continued to kick until the bar fell free. She was able to snatch it up before it fell off the edge of the bed and out of her reach. The wolf was irate at this point, snapping at her through the one free space she had made. She crowded the opposite side of the cage, clutching the bar to her and whimpering. Am I really going to do this? What if I can't? I'll be eaten alive. She closed her eyes, thinking thoughts of John and Sherlock in the lab, working on an experiment or a case. Laughing with them as John would tell his stories and jokes. Eying Sherlock as he peered through his microscope. Molly let the tears come. She knew it was now or never.

Molly began to run the bar against the cage near the front, irritating the wolf. The wolf lunged once and banged into the bars. A few gave. Next hit would be the last and the wolf would be inside the cage with her. It's eyes burned with a crazy hunger. She waited for her chance. The wolf lunged and she dove towards the opposite end of the cage. She burst out of the cage and into the opposite wall, nearly knocking herself out as she did so. She quickly got to her feet to view the wolf halfway inside the cage struggling to back itself out. She turned and eyed the grated window frame and threw all of her weight into it. Molly went sprawling out the second story window as her two rescuers kicked in the door.

Lestrade and Sherlock stopped dead in their tracks as they viewed the room. A half crazed and nearly rabid wolf was stuck halfway within a rusted human sized cage inside the room. The grate to the right of them was off the window. "Oh shit!" Lestrade yelled out as the wolf freed itself, immediately turning towards the man and lunging for Lestrade. His gun fired and the wolf fell dead at his feet, nearly taking his already injured arm into its jaws. Sherlock took the moment to rush to the window and peer down. Molly sat up out of the bushes that had broken her fall two stories down and noted with relief she seemed okay. The guard who had been driving rushed to her and was helping her. He patted Lestrade on the shoulder as he left the room, who was still staring in disbelief at the ebony furred wolf that lay bleeding out at his feet.

The men rushed down the stairs and out the back entrance. Molly had not so much as gotten back up onto her feet before Lestrade took her up in his arms and hugged her tightly to him. She cried into his neck, squeezing him back as if he couldn't possibly be real. "Gods, Molly." Lestrade looked at her, not caring that she was saturated with blood, sticky and sour, and scratched and bruised from head to toe from her swan dive out the window. "I thought I'd lost you."

Molly took one look at the relief in Lestrade's eyes before pulling him into a frantic kiss. Sherlock stopped, giving them the space, that uncomfortable pang aching in his chest, but his head overruled it. She needs him to keep watch over her. Just as John needs me to keep watch over him. The thought of John made him anxious and he pulled his phone out to give him a call, to get an update. Hell, just to hear his voice and calm his racing heart.

"We caught this one within." The second guard emerged with a man in a black suit, hands bound behind him, and pushed him to the ground. He looked up at Sherlock with black, greasy hair and a scarred cheek and grinned. His teeth were nearly rotten and black. It was a surprise he had any left.

"Good work. Let's get him into the car." Sherlock turned to place a call to John once more, but before he could complete the action the phone began to ring. It was Mycroft once more. He ignored the call, dialing John's phone instead. The phone rang and rang. This did not sit well with Sherlock, as he felt a bit lightheaded as his mind flew from one thought to another. Mycroft called again and Sherlock answered it reluctantly. "What is it?" He snapped.

"I've news. You find Ms. Hooper?" Mycroft sounded somber on the other side of the phone. Sherlock swallowed dryly.

"Yes, she is fine. What news?" Sherlock questioned, growing ever anxious.

"John's found Harriet. But he's been shot. We have him here. Fly home." Mycroft answered and hung up the phone before Sherlock could protest. He grabbed Lestrade by his arm and yanked him in the direction of the car.

"What's wrong? Did John find his sister?" Lestrade asked as he carried Molly towards the car, barely able to keep up with Sherlock as he strode long leggedly towards the black car.

"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly. Sherlock felt his heart beating free of his chest. He banged violently upon the separation. "Drive!" He yelled non too pleased and sat back, his long fingers tapping rapidly once more upon his knee.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

John rode in the cab down the old country road, mind deep in thought. He didn't really know where he was headed. The only clue he'd gotten to his sister's location was a few riddles about breathing and a river. The only river that made since, considering where they were currently, was the River Ness. The road he followed currently was running alongside it.

John had taken a page from Sherlock's book, and had studied the clue Moriarty had sent them closely. The tree of "knowledge" with its blood red fruit that were clasped in the hand of his sister as she was buried below the ground. He had phoned Mycroft after heading in the direction of the River Ness and located a few orchards that coincided with the river. He had sent one group of guards in the direction of one, and now he was on the way to the other.

As he arrived, he took off with the other guards at his side into the orchard that grew beside the river. They split up and trudged quickly through the acres of orchard that lay in front of him. He searched almost defeatedly, wondering if his sister was under any of them, looking for some clue. He also wondered if Sherlock had located Molly and if she was safe. He almost stopped once momentarily to phone him and ask, which would have put him calling about the time Sherlock and Lestrade had found the sign to the Over the River, Through the Woods on their drive. He had thought better of it for some reason, and had continued his search for Harry. She must be so frightened. He felt for his sister, and longed to know she was okay.

As they searched through the orchard of apples, John noted one of interest. A shovel sat up against the tree trunk and as he drew nearer he noted that the fruit were a sickly red color. He neared and took note of the disturbed earth that had been patted down beneath it. He yelled for the guards who quickly joined him and set to digging at the disturbed area under the tree. John took a closer look at the fruit, noting that it did indeed look as though the fruit had been dipped in blood. He grimaced in disgust and took hold of the shovel to dig.

They dug feverishly for twenty minutes or more, finally discovering an old wooden coffin beneath the earth. He dropped to his knees in the hole and ripped at the coffin with his bare hands, not minding the splinters and cuts his hands received from doing so. Inside lay his sister Harry, groggy and scared out of her mind. She nearly clocked him as she came to, perhaps fearing that it was another of Moriarty's men trying to manhandle her. "Harry, it's me!" John defended himself and all the while reached in to help her out of her casket.

"Oh thank the gods, John!" Harry nearly burst into tears with relief as he helped her up and out of the box. She hugged him tightly. John was completely relieved. Of course, he feared something else was in store, as that had not been one of Moriarty's best puzzles. Riddles were a new thing for him, and they were not at all that hard to solve. "They forced me to eat an apple of all things and then shoved me in that box and buried me. I think I fell asleep for a while..." Harry was still somewhat disoriented.

"Okay, okay. We need to get you out of here and to safety. We can talk about it when we get you safe." He bent down as she stepped out of the box that had held her and noted the apple with the bite taken out of it in the coffin as well as another envelope. He swallowed hard and bent to retrieve it.

"How the bloody hell are we going to get out of this hole?" He heard Harry mention as he opened the envelope. Within was a letter, in true Moriarty fashion:

I'm sure you suspect that was far too easy to solve, John. I'm giving you starters since you are nowhere near Sherlock's par. So here's a bonus:

There once was a brother and a sister who were running from their evil stepmother. In their escape, the brother turned into a stag and the sister tried her best to save her brother from being hunted.

That's the long and short of it. Have a wonderful time getting back to Sherlock now. I said protection for two cases. Now it's anybody's game.

\- M

John glanced up at the hole and shouted for the guards. None of the four that had come with him answered. John hadn't heard anything unsual, although his attention had been focused on his sister while they stayed above the ground. "Harry," John took hold of her shoulders. "We've got to get out of this hole, and there's possibly the same men up there waiting to kill us once we're free of this hole. I think I'n the target. Here's what we're going to do."

"Oh gods, John. No." Harry seemed to know her brother far too well.

"Yes, shut up and listen. When we climb out, if we survive that, we're going to make a run for it. You're going to run alongside the treeline and towards the road where there will be a car. You get in it and you drive if I don't follow close behind. I'm going to lead them off towards the river. You do this. I mean it." John shook her as if to reinforce what he meant to do. He pulled his gun from his belt and checked it to make sure it was ready for action. Harry nodded, tears forming. She was scared. Hell, so was he. "On three. One." He glanced up, and pulled Harry into position to climb out. "Two." He readied himself and nodded to her. "Three!"

Harry climbed out of the pit she'd been buried alive within and John followed. Nothing happened, but John stayed low just the same. Suddenly a shot rang out, although it wasn't as loud as it could have been. Fuck, a sniper with a silencer. "Run!" He whispered to his sister and on cue she took off towards the treeline as he belted for the river. More shots rang out. He ran as fast as his body could carry him, praying to God that his sister was not injured. Surely the card had been meant for him as the target, right? To kill his sister would be childsplay. If Moriarty wanted to hurt Sherlock, he'd hurt John not someone important to John.

John stumbled as he came close to the river bank and the tree beside him exploded with a rain of bark as the shot caught it. He felt nearly into the River Ness but continued to run along the bank, hoping he wouldn't have to jump into the river to escape his pursuer. Shots pelted the soft river mud beneath his feet and some went into the water with a strange splash and zing. If this is Moran shooting at me, is he a bad shot tonight or is he merely fucking with me? John was truly terrified, he couldn't help it. He was in the war and yet this was way more terrifying than that had ever been.

John noted that he was losing the light of day and it would not be long before his attacker wouldn't be able to take a decent shot at him without night vision goggles. Which he probably has, fucker. John spotted the ruins of a castle farther up the river and headed in its direction. He could reach it possibly in the next ten minutes if he kept up his pace and didn't get shot or falter in his steps. He ran as fast as he possibly while keeping low to the ground and zig zagging here and there to mess with Moran's mind.

He reached the castle just as a stray shot struck in in the shoulder. He cried out in agonizing pain, the bullet searing through the old scar tissue from his last injury. What fucking luck! John felt into the river mud clutching his shoulder. He struggled with the one arm to get back on his feet. I can't stop. I stop, I'm dead. I can't stop. I'll bleed out first. He struggled up the incline to the castle ruins and barely made it inside before another two bullets struck the crumbling rock and ricocheted off. John pulled his gun with his good arm and aimed wildly in the direction of the attack and fired. He wasn't sure if he had even struck anything but it felt good to fight back. He collapsed against the castle ruin wall and breathed heavily. His shoulder ached something awful and his arm was quickly becoming sticky with warm blood. Just Harry be okay. He slid to the floor, grasping his injured shoulder with his gun in hand.

He suddenly remembered he had his cell phone. He fired off a few more wild shots before dropping the gun and fishing the cell phone out of his pocket. He dial the last number he had called and listened. Come on, come on, fucking pick up...Mycroft answered. "John? Have you located your sister?"

"Yes, and now I'm hiding in a bloody castle on the River Ness with a madman shooting away at me." John gasped as the injury burned and bled.

"Are you injured?" A hint of concern echoed in Mycroft's voice. He listened, waiting for John to be able to answer. Another bullet struck a little too close to John's head for his comfort. He fell into the floor and cried out as his shoulder flamed up with renewed pain.

"Yes! Bloody hell..." John grimaced, and started to feel a bit light headed. "I may not last long. Send someone for Harry. I told her to run for the car."

"I've got a trace on your cell phone, John. Stay alive another fifteen minutes if you can." Mycroft stated and John breathed an agreement into the phone before hanging up. More shots. He returned them. He crawled along the floor in an incredible amount of pain before finding another area to hide and rest against.

John felt like it had been hours before he heard the sounds of a car pulling up somewhere close by. He barely had consciousness left, possibly from the blood lost and the extensive stress he'd put on his body running from his attacker. Just let Harry be okay. He heard footsteps and voices as he blacked out and fell sideways onto the castle rock floor, dead to the world.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock checks on John after hearing he's been shot. Lestrade cares for Molly. Sherlock sees red.

Chapter 42

 

Sherlock burst through the door, heading towards the secret door that led towards the basement. Mycroft stood in front of it, umbrella in front of him with both hands resting on it. Sherlock showed no signs of slowing, adamant on getting to John. His stomach was in his throat, his mouth was cotton, and his heart was flittering enough to make him lightheaded. Lestrade followed closely on Sherlock's heels, holding Molly and looking reinvigorated at having her back within his arms. "Sherlock-"

"Let me through, Mycroft." Sherlock made to push him aside but Mycroft caught his arm and looked him dead on. The two were caught in their stare for a moment. "Let. Me. Through." Sherlock's voice was deep and dark, hinting at sinister thoughts if he were not allowed through.

"You need to let him rest. You can see him, but do not attempt to disturb him. He's lost a lot of blood." Mycroft spoke to him firmly but softly. Sherlock did not reply nor did he react. Mycroft stepped to the side and allowed him through. Lestrade approached and Mycroft placed a concerned hand on Molly's shoulder, then withdrew his hand with a grimace of disgust at the sticky red substance that covered her. Lestrade's shirt was covered in it, but he didn't seem to notice. "Is she okay?" Molly didn't stir as Mycroft spoke.

"Just tired. She's been under a lot of stress." Lestrade answered. Mycroft turned to allow him through the doorway as well. "A bloody fucking wolf, Mycroft." Lestrade angrily stated as he went through and Mycroft followed. 

"My gods." Mycroft seemed surprised as he answered, showing Lestrade to one of the bedrooms and motioning for a few of the nurses to come and assist her. 

"It's okay, she's not hurt. I'll tend to her." Lestrade answered and waved the nurses away, and they nodded and went back to their work in the opposite bedroom. 

Mycroft nodded. "Very well. They are available whenever you need them. I'll have the kitchen prepare something for her to eat. I'm sure a bath is in order." Mycroft glanced at his dirtied hand once more. Lestrade nodded his thanks and shut the door behind him. Mycroft strolled down to the opposite bedroom where the group of nurses and doctors gathered. Sherlock had shouldered his way through and was currently standing at attention at John's side, watching the vital machine as the staff did their work. Mycroft did not dare disturb him, but simply wandered off to see about John's sister Harry.

Sherlock sat at John's bedside as the staff had finally dissipated and left them alone as John seemed to be stable. A large white bandaged that was growing ever redder with his blood wrapped the whole of John's shoulder, the one wounded when he was in the war. Sherlock wondered if the pale white scar tissue was still there or if it had been obliterated. The bullet that had torn through him lay in a petri dish beside the bed. Sherlock had spent hours it seemed turning what was left with it over and over in his fingers. Studying it. Moran. Had to be Moran. Sherlock took a deep breath and huffed it out. His temper was becoming hard to control. That which was most dear to him had once again come under attack. John doesn't deserve any of this and yet he is at the center of everything that's happening. The bullet had been specially made, perhaps by Moran himself, to explode into lethal shards as soon as it met with resistance. This of course had been John's already wounded shoulder. John was lucky to still be alive, as most of the shards had traveled into his carotid, on up to his brain, and into his heart. Luckily, Mycroft had some of the world's best surgeons at his disposal and emergency heart, orthopedic, and brain surgery had been employed to catch the migrating shards of poisoned metal before they reached and destroyed anything that would lend its self to John's well being.  
Sherlock could hardly contain his anger and frustration as he viewed the long, ugly red staples that held the incisions running across John's chest, shoulder, and neck. He was ecstatic to have his love alive, but this recovery would be painful and perhaps long. John hadn't even awoken long enough to tell anyone anything. He had been found passed out in the floor, a massive amount of blood pooling beneath him. Harry, on the other hand, had made it safely to the car and had sped off to get help, not knowing her brother had called for help but finding some local police to help her. They had assisted in searching the area, to no avail. No one was to be found with no clues or evidence left behind. Mycroft's men had been able to locate and bring back the card that had been left in Harry's coffin for John to find if he found her.

Sherlock had this on the table beside him at the moment. He had spent time mulling over it as well, and found the longer he looked at it the more red he saw. A red murderous film was passing over his vision has he imagined John running for his life and being gunned down. I should have been there with him. I shouldn't have let him go on his own. Then again, I perhaps wouldn't have been able to rescue Molly. Moriarty you bastard. Sherlock's mind flashed to the man that had been brought into custody from Molly's crime scene. Villainous thoughts swam within his mind's eye.   
Sherlock leaned forward in the chair, feeling all at once invigorated and exhausted at the same time. He hadn't had a chance to sleep since they had split up to go and follow Moriarty's clues. He took John's hand in his own, a cold clammy hand that didn't respond to his touch. He lay across John's body, not caring who saw or who cared. He let a tear drop onto the sheet that covered him and wrapped his other arm around John's waist, resting his head in John's lap. I've got to do something. Before Moriarty kills him off completely and leaves me with nothing. He'll crush me simply by killing that which I hold most dear, and he knows it.   
Sherlock lay in this way for an hour or so, dozing to the feel of the rise and fall of John's chest, as well as the weakened heart that beat within that chest. He is still alive. John is a fighter. He'll live. Sherlock righted himself, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He stewed a bit longer, glancing at the bullet fragment and the letter that sat on the table beside the chair. He pulled Moriarty's phone from his pocket and typed.  
You did not play by the rules. We followed yours. I've got a pawn in my possession and I intend to extract what I need in whatever way possible. You won't care, every one is expendable. But perhaps there are some weak threads in your spider web. - SH

 

Sherlock simply sat at gazed at John as he slept, comatose and holding on. He was far too pale, and had broken out into a sweat. Sherlock feared he possibly was gaining an infection, and in his weakened post surgical state it was the last thing he needed. The phone pinged:

I played by the rules, but I added a twist. I'm bored. Can you blame me? How is dear Johnny? - M

 

Sherlock's temper flared at the response. What else did he expect? 

You will suffer for this. If he dies, you will suffer far longer than you could ever imagine. If he lives, you'll suffer for what you owe in pain before I snuff you out. - SH

 

Ping.

Tsk, tsk tsk. Sherlock, since when have you become so sentimental? Every life is expendable, as long as you reach your goal in the end. We are not so different. - M

 

The scarlet red veil of hate was almost completely clouding his vision now.

Perhaps you are correct. - SH

 

Sherlock shot out of his chair and headed through the basement. He had a few questions to ask their newest associate.

Lestrade sat Molly on the bench in the bathroom as he ran her a nice hot bath. Molly hadn't said much since she had been rescued, but she had rarely let Lestrade venture far from her, if not far enough she couldn't reach out and touch him. He imagined she was spent, and perhaps traumatized by what she had just been through. He glanced at her to make sure she was okay here and there as he readied the bath. When it was ready he stepped to her and bent down, looking up into her tired, pretty face. "Molly? I've got a bath ready for you, dear. Would you like me to bring in one of the nurses?"

Molly glanced up at him and shook her head no. The blood was beginning to dry dark brown and black on her skin and Lestrade hated the look of it. 

"I've got to get you cleaned. You'll feel much better." Lestrade hoped he could get her to respond, to get into the bath for someone and allow them to clean her. "I won't leave, I'll stay in the room if you like." 

"You can help me." Molly spoke softly in a cracked, strained voice. She began unbutton her blouse. Lestrade was taken aback, swallowing hard in surprise. He hadn't meant he would be the one to bathe her. "Won't you?"

"Do you really want me to?" Lestrade questioned. He was not about to cross any boundaries in her weakened and vulnerable state. She nodded, looking deep into his eyes as she continued her work on her buttons. That's my Molly, that's her there. She's here with me. Lestrade was relieved to see a spark of her in this seemingly shell shocked body. He helped her to stand and helped her out of her blouse. She pushed her jeans off of her hips and stepped out of them as they pooled on the floor. She stood looking timidly up at him in nothing but her bra and panties. She quickly unsnapped the bra and let it fall to the floor with her panties. Soon, Molly Hooper stood naked and bloodied in front of Lestrade. His pulse was racing and his face was flushed with embarrassment as well as excitement.   
He took her hand and led her to the tub, helping to steady her as she stepped him. Once she was seated he took up the washcloth and took to washing her. She let him, closing her eyes and relishing the wonderful feel of the hot scented water on her skin and Lestrade's voice as he spoke to her. She was comforted merely by his presence, but Molly Hooper had fallen for the Detective Inspector. She felt protected and loved. More so than Sherlock had ever shown her. She couldn't blame Sherlock, his heart was somewhere else and he had been perfectly up front with her. 

Lestrade helped dip her back to wash her hair. Before long, Molly Hooper was clean and as lovely as ever in her pale milky skin. Her eyes flitted back to Lestrade as he made to get her a towel. She stood up in the tub, glistening wet, a thankful smile upon her face. Lestrade held the towel out to her and she stepped into it to dry off. Lestrade was trying his best not to react in the typical male fashion but it was hard not to. He loved Molly, and wanted her for his own, but he was separated and not sure if Molly was up to taking on his excess baggage. He had kids, she had none. How would she deal with that?

"I think I'd like to lie down a while." Molly stated as she wrapped the towel about her and allowed him to lead her to the bed. She shimmied down underneath the covers and reached up for him. He hesitated, not knowing what it was she was asking. "You're on leave, Detective Inspector. Come and nap with me, please. I don't want you to leave. I know you've got work to do but-" Molly stated.

Lestrade immediately removed his jacket and shoes and climbed into the bed under the covers behind her. He drew her in close, holding her as though he were afraid she'd float off if he didn't have a hold of her. Molly snuggled into his warmth and closed her eyes, able to drift off to sleep in peace with her policeman to hold her. Lestrade smiled to himself as he started to drift as well.

The man sat in the makeshift interrogation room, handcuffed to the chair he sat in, a glass of water in front of him, but unable to drink it as his hands were handcuffed behind him. He sat alone, groggy, tired, but unable to get comfortable. Which was the point. 

Sherlock entered, watching the man, wondering where to start with the questioning. "If you think I'll break, I won't." He sneered at the consulting detective, unaware due mostly to the unreadable expression on Sherlock's face, of the danger he was in. 

"You may not break, but parts of you will." Sherlock stated. The man screwed his face up into a mix of disdain and confusion. Sherlock picked up the glass of water and threw it in the man's face. As he sputtered, Sherlock proceeded to smash the glass hard against the man's face, shattering the glass about the floor and illiciting a cry from the man as the left side of his face began to bleed. Sherlock pulled his Browning L9 from his belt and aimed it, cocked with safety off at the man's head. Mycroft had little time to get in motion before Sherlock connected his gun with the man's already swelling face as he pistol whipped him.

Sherlock is seeing red and there is no telling how far he will go to get the information he wants from the man. I imagine Sherlock can be pretty unsympathetic when it comes to the criminal class who are harming those he loves.

I will be busy this weekend with last minute prep on my house so I will not be able to post for sure until at least Monday morning. Bear with me in this! I apologize again for the lack of update during the week. After this weekend I'll be able to keep up with both fics a little better. :)

Thank you as always for reading and reviewing and being faithful wonderful followers of my imaginings! :)


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Sherlock stood, Browning L9 cocked, loaded, safety off, and resting against the temple of the man that had been watching Molly Hooper almost get eaten by a black wolf. All at Moriarty's command. The man was whimpering, obviously extremely frightened from the assault he'd just received. The entire left side of his face was cut and bloody from the glass, and most likely his cheekbone was shattered from the pistol whipping Sherlock had just given him. "Start talking. I can do far worse."

"Orders from Moriarty!" The man cried out. Sherlock noted the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching and turned to deadbolt the door. Mycroft stopped on the outside of the door and began to pound against it, mentally berating himself for making the holding room be the only other room in the basement complex to contain a door that locked from the inside.

"Tell me something useful." Sherlock pistol whipped him once again, causing blood to fly out of the corner of the man's mouth and splatter unattractively against the opposite wall. "I won't hesitate to break something."

"Moriarty sends texts, he doesn't tell us much of anything! Please-" The man was beginning to sound high pitched and desperate, something that was grating on Sherlock's one and only nerve.

"Names." Sherlock growled and pressed the barrel of the gun once more against the man's bloody temple. The man whimpered some more. He pressed in with the gun to make his point.

"Um..." The man was struggling to remember something in his panic and fear. Sherlock's rose vision showed no signs of fading. "Hold on now."

"Ten seconds." Sherlock calmly stated. The man began to hyperventilate and Sherlock smacked him up the back of the head to remind him he was running out of precious time. The pounding of the door was growing more erratic. Sherlock paid no attention, only bore a hole through the man's head as he watched him sweat and struggle to remember something of importance.

"Erickson. Stephen Erickson. He's a- um- chemical engineer, Baskerville." The man was near tears now. Sherlock pushed the gun further against his temple.

"Good, more." Sherlock stated.

"Thomas Dickers runs money for Moriarty."

"Next."

"That's all I know!"

"Moran? You know nothing of Sebastian Moran?" Sherlock questioned. The man shook his head desperately no. "Nothing whatsoever?"

"No! I swear to gods! Please...I told you something. Please." The man was sobbing in fear now. Sherlock released him from the threat of a bullet through the brain and watched the man nearly collapse out of the chair in relief.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Sherlock gave the man a twisted smile before circling back behind the man's chair and delivering a vicious blow to the man's left arm, at the elbow. There was a sickening snap followed by the man's shrill scream as his arm broke. Sherlock walked to the door, unlocked the deadbolt and strode out through the group of guards and Mycroft and started back towards John's bedroom.

"What the bloody hell, Sherlock?!" Mycroft seemed more than a little put off by Sherlock's actions, but Sherlock did not bother to slow and answer his brother, nor did he care. He only cared about the information he had extracted as well as the man that lay unconscious in the bed to which he was headed towards. Stephen Erickson and Thomas Dickers. At least I've got a starter.

He entered the room, taking his place beside John in the chair he had pulled up and fished Moriarty's black phone from his pocket and sent a text.

Smart move. I didn't expect you to give the man much information but I did manage to get something out of him. - SH

Ping.

Whatever he told you was probably a lie. I tend to select the loyal lapdogs to do my dirty work, Sherlock. Was he expendable? - M

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

Not yet. We will see when these wounds heal how much more the man knows. People talk. I don't suppose you knew that your little friend here is good friends with a few other spiders within your web? Human condition. Gossip is gold. - SH

For once there was no immediate response. Sherlock smirked to himself. Cat finally got your tongue, Moriarty? Ping.

Better check for infection. Moran's bullets are one of a kind. No two are alike. Would hate to lose Johnny this early in the game before I've gotten a chance to have some real fun with him. Tata for now. - M

Sherlock scowled at the response and angrily closed the message, placing the phone back in the jacket pocket. He sat back and stapled his hands below his chin, searching his mind palace in his vigil over John for the next possible step.

Lestrade awoke hours later, arms wrapped tightly around Molly Hooper as she snoozed. He was half asleep, couldn't remember what he had been dreaming about, but it was obvious that Molly had awoken him. She seemed to be dreaming, what of he couldn't say. She was mumbling in her sleep and it was adorable. Lestrade laughed as he hugged her tighter.

Things had taken a considerably wonderful turn for the better in the relationship department. He had been so lonely and depressed for so long at the loss in his marriage to his wife of, what was it, nearly ten years? Ten years. Three kids later. Nothing to show for it but a separation, a pending divorce, and joint custody. He couldn't help it that his job as Detective Inspector left little time for other pursuits, including family, but no one could say he hadn't tried.

Until Molly. He'd befriended Molly when he had been alerted to Sherlock Holmes and his massive intellect, and therefore introduced to her on an indirect basis through work at St. Bartholomew's. He'd developed a little bit of a friend zone crush on her, as she obviously had eyes only for the consulting detective. Until recently.

After spending time caring for her at the hospital and being her 'person' while she was indisposed, he had taken the opportunity to show how much he cared for her and find some things out about her. Molly had inadvertently admitted to him during a drugged stupor that she fancied him somewhat and she thought he was a 'looker', and that had made him feel there was a sliver of hope there somewhere. If he could get past the Sherlock factor.

Thankfully, he had been able to show her affection and Molly had finally warmed up to him and allowed herself to be happy with him. Something Sherlock had done or said had apparently made her realize that perhaps her future did not lie with him, and Lestrade could not help but be thankful, if not a little wary of why there had been such a sudden change in her thoughts towards him.

Now here he lay, after being so worried for her safety, holding her in his arms underneath the covers...Lestrade realized once more that Molly was delightfully naked and pressing up against him. He tried to think uncomfortable thoughts, but the feel of her skin against him was too distracting. He was rising to the occasion. There is no occasion, Greg. Just take it down a notch.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Molly turned over in the bed towards him, eyes half open and sleepy. She smiled at him and he returned it. "How you feeling, love?"

"Much better, thank you." She whispered and leaned forward to plant a surprising soft kiss on his lips. His eyes went wide with surprise and he only gazed at her as she pulled away.

"Molly..." He started but found he didn't know what he planned to say. She was still smiling. "Are you still asleep?"

"No, Greg." She giggled a little. Lestrade swallowed hard and felt Molly slide her arm up and about his waist. He twitched below the belt.

"I don't know what you want me to-" He began and she shushed him.

"You don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. But I'm going to be honest with you. Life is too short not to get everything out in the open and almost being eaten alive by a wolf has prompted me to not take things for granted." Her arm about him felt heavenly and he managed to swallow dryly once more.

"Okay, I'm all ears." Lestrade smiled and leaned on his arm, his complete attention on her.

"I have a crush on you, Greg Lestrade. You're easy on the eye and you're a wonderful man. You know how to treat a lady, you care about me. I can tell. I should have seen it before but I was blinding by something that would never have come to fruition." She spoke intelligently, but with confidence and Lestrade was nearly ecstatic with what she was revealing.

"I have kids though...and I'm still married. Doesn't that bother you?" He asked her, worrying what her answer may be. Had she even considered that?

"I love kids, I'd love to have some of my own one day...and you're getting a divorce. Unless you've changed your mind on that." She answered softly.

"No, no. It's pretty much a done deal." Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Then there are no reservations on my end. Are there any on yours?" Her eyes held his gaze and he nearly got lost in them before he managed an answer.

"None at all. I've been falling for you ever since I've come to know you. Are you thinking we should, you know..." He was acting like a juvenile schoolboy but there was little control he had over that.

"Yes. I believe we should." Molly smiled and leaned forward to kiss him again. Lestrade held the kiss longer this time. He took the chance and moved his arm that was still about her to the small of her back, right above her bottom, and he twitched once more. This was becoming an agonizing tease. But Lestrade was a gentleman and he would not force the issue, or bring it up for that matter. "I'm in need of some comforting." Molly blushed. Lestrade believed he knew what she was speaking of and his mouth nearly fell open. That was quick!

"Oh! Are you...sure? Now?" He was unsure how to proceed but Molly seemed unnervingly calm.

"Yes, unless you think it's too soon. We've expressed our feelings for each other. Technically we're together...so make it official." Molly smiled and looked away, blushing. Even though she was asking him to bed her, right then and there, she was still same old shy Molly Hooper. Lestrade was more than happy to oblige. Although he was admittedly nervous. "If you're not against it, then make love to me, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade pulled Molly to him in the bed and met her lips with a lustful kiss. He had dreamt about this moment on and off for nearly three years and now, in this moment, Molly was asking him to do as he had always dreamt he would. He would not disappoint. He hoped he wouldn't. Molly wasted no time expressing how badly she wanted him as well, as she proceeded to engage him in some heavy panting that left him wanting her painfully. He quickly undressed in between kisses and crawled on top of her, taking her petite face into his hands and kissing her lovingly.

Molly was panting, and Lestrade was more than ready to comfort her. He palmed her, much to her satisfaction, and found her ready to accept him. He positioned himself, looking down at her as he entered her and she moaned out her desire for him. Lestrade feared to begin moving within her, as he was already far to excited. She grabbed hold of his arse and pulled his hips into her, wanting him to love her and he began to slowly thrust. Molly took hold of him, hugging him close as he made love to her, as gently and passionately as he could manage without enormous willpower to last as long as possible.

"Oh gods...Greg!" She called out as she came, tightening around him and shattering any possibility of him holding out any longer. He grunted as he sped up his frantic thrusts and came only moments later. He nearly collapsed on top of her, struggling to calm himself and basking in the body wide feeling of bliss they were both experiencing. She ran her fingers through his salt and pepper hair and laid soft sweet kisses about his face and neck. "That was wonderful."

Lestrade chuckled and rested on his elbows to admire her. She was such a beautiful woman. And so bloody smart. How could anyone not be interested in her? Lestrade supposed Sherlock's intellect had attracted her to him. He only hoped he could make up for what he lacked in genius with caring and comfort. Sherlock had completely overshot the mark on this one, but Lestrade couldn't be more thankful for that. "I hope I didn't disappoint."

"Never." Molly smiled sweetly up at him, feeling the safest within his arms. "Perhaps we could do that more often?"

"More than happy to oblige." Lestrade chuckled once more, stroking Molly's hair and kissing her once more softly and sweetly.

"Stay with me?" Molly questioned. She looked so vulnerable in that moment that Lestrade felt a pang of anxiety, the same as he had when she'd called him after being taken.

"I'll not leave you again unless you asked me to." Lestrade whispered in her ear, moving off to the side and cuddling her close to him. She closed her eyes and smelled in the sweet scent of his cologne and their lovemaking.

Sherlock had fallen asleep on John's bed whilst sitting up the chair again. He had been dreaming, of what he wasn't sure, but he was bathed in a cold sweat. It most likely was another nightmare. Ever since he had learned of John's injury, whatever rest he got was often interrupted by horrible nightmares of Moriarty and his spiderweb...

Sherlock roused and glanced up, shocked to feel something on his head. He momentarily panicked, and yet calmly raised a hand to feel what it was. It was a hand, stroking his dark curls. More appropriately it was John's hand and he was awake, gazing at Sherlock with lovesick eyes and trying for a smile.

"John?"


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

 

Sherlock was looking up into those eyes of his one and only John Watson as John stroked his curls lovingly. He spied his lover and his best friend within them, whole once again. "John..." Sherlock practically leapt out of the chair, taking John's stubbled face within his large hands and kissing him as though John was the air that he breathed. John closed his eyes, relishing the kiss but also groaning a bit at the pain that was within his head and neck. He put his hands on Sherlock's arms and pushed away a bit. Sherlock released him momentarily. "Pain, careful." 

"Oh, yes. Apologies." Sherlock stood back. He yelled for the nurses and the staff came rushing in, surprised to find their patient awake and looking well. They took to analyzing him and dosing him with pain medication. Sherlock spotted Mycroft in the doorway and wandered in his direction.

"You've overstepped your boundaries, brother." Mycroft sneered. He was none too pleased, and Sherlock couldn't blame him. Despite their shoot from the hip ways, Mycroft was still indeed the British government and liked to operate somewhat by the book. 

"I had to get something out of him." Sherlock nearly growled back at him, feeling justified in his treatment of their suspect. "Otherwise we'd be at yet another dead end. Moriarty's fixed his little binary code glitch on his website so I can no longer go that route. I must take on other ways of extraction." 

"Be that as it may, we have both of our people back where they belong, and there will be no more pistol whipping or arm breaking with someone in my custody, do you understand me?" Mycroft's voice was sharp, and Sherlock did not reply. Only rolled his eyes where he knew that Mycroft could not see him. He was watching John, who did not like to be fussed over. He was overwhelmingly relieved that his John was back in the land of the living and complete in mind and body once more. "I'm not blind you know, dear brother." Mycroft stated.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock scowled at his brother. Mycroft nodded his head in the direction of John. Sherlock's mouth went dry. His own brother, suspecting him of being with John? Had they made it that obvious?

"I believe you know exactly what it means, dear brother. Love knows no boundaries." Mycroft smiled, and Sherlock was almost sure it was one of triumph and mocking jest. He leaned in closer to his younger brother and whispered in his ear. "I've watched the two of you, from the very start. Although I have the suspicion that it's just been realized recently between the two of you. I've seen the way you look at him and the anxiety is nearly tangible when he's in some kind of danger." Mycroft eyed him up and down. Sherlock looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Brilliant. Something for him to use against me now I suppose. I've been careless, but perhaps it doesn't matter now. Moriarty knew it so it must be obvious. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear brother. I don't judge you, nor do I blame you." Mycroft swung his umbrella a few times out of habit and left Sherlock and the staff of medical personnel to their work. Sherlock was completely taken aback.  
Sherlock had made sure that John was properly cared for and fed, and had hardly left his companion's side the entirety of the evening. John was weak, as was to be expected, but he had a voracious appetite which made Sherlock happy to see him regaining his strength. Once the staff had been persuaded to leave them be, Sherlock shut the door and locked it as well as drew the curtains.

John watched him with a grin upon his face as Sherlock stripped down to nothing but his briefs and crawled into the bed next to John. He leaned up against the uninjured side of him and wrapped his lean arms about him, saying nothing, just simply wanting to be with the one his heart ached for. "Been a long a few days, eh?" John chuckled. "How's Harry?"

"She's wonderful. Quite concerned about you, but otherwise fine. Mycroft's got the government eye on her and Clara as well as your mother, just to keep everyone safe. She made it out without a scratch." Sherlock couldn't help but think it was unfair that John always seemed to receive the brunt of the blow when it came to tangling with Moriarty and his assassins.

"Good to hear. I knew it was too good to be true. When I saw that bloody envelope..." John frowned. "Luckily, I made it out with barely a scratch." John joked as he reached up to touch the incisions that ran along his neck and chest. Going to be ugly fucking scars once I heal. If I heal.   
"You're alive. That should at least be applauded. Lucky bastard." Sherlock hugged him tighter. John winced. 

"Yes, yes. Don't be so bloody dramatic." John scowled. He didn't like to be fawned over, although he was grateful for the contact that Sherlock was giving him. It was causing a most unusual reaction. "It does make for difficulty in showing you how much I missed you." Sherlock sat up and looked at him curiously.

"Meaning what?" Sherlock questioned. John raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock seemed to get the hint. "But...you're injured. I'd be afraid I'd hurt you."

"Come on now, Sherlock. Use your head." John slid his uninjured arm over and across the front of Sherlock's briefs, causing the detective to gasp in surprise. His cock responded to John's touch immediately. "Ah, there we are, see? Just a little bit of heavy petting." John's face was flushed, his vitals most certainly were up, and Sherlock was amazed at John's willingness to have a go this early in the game of three simultaneous surgeries and a near coma not long before.

"I don't think you should engage in any strenuous activity." Sherlock growled seductively in his lowest, deepest voice, and John's own lower regions responded. John took hold of Sherlock's hand around his waist and moved it downwards onto his package, allowing him to feel the effect that voice was having on him. 

"Sherlock, I remember everything. From that kiss in the bedroom when I discovered you weren't dead to you getting shot, to the IOUs, to everything. I'm your John, body and soul. So, you can see what you do to me, you may as well take advantage." John was half joking, trying to break the ice but Sherlock was clearly afraid of injuring him further. He pulled Sherlock to him with a free hand about the back of his neck and whispered "Please..." with hot breath into his ear. Sherlock nearly moaned at the feel and palmed John's erection urgently. John threw his head back, enjoying the feeling, and returning the favor with a slip of his hand into Sherlock's briefs to take hold of him. 

"Fuck!" Sherlock cried out at the sensation. His logical thought processes were out the window. His John was back, and more than willing to engage him, and he would oblige. How could he not? He quickly stripped off his briefs, debriefing John as well, although more carefully and considerately. He climbed on top of John, pulling the sheet across the very back of his ass, just in case some unfortunately soul were to unlock the door and wander in as Molly seemed to have accomplished on more than one occasion.

Their erections touching, Sherlock began to rub himself against John in a most erotic fashion, illiciting moans and sighs of pleasure from the both of them. Sherlock took John's tongue into his mouth and lavished it with attention, causing John to whimper. The pain from his injuries combined with the lustful interactions below the belt of his lover were driving him crazy with desire. He took hold of Sherlock to increase the friction, and Sherlock followed suit. He thrusted away into John's hand and gripped John firmly in his own to match his rhythm. 

"Cum. Hard." Sherlock commanded John as he bit sharply into the good side of his neck. John cried out "Bloody fucking-" and sighed as he came into Sherlock's hand. His mind went fuzzy with the orgasm and he released his grip slightly on his lover, who objected and took hold around his hand to remind him things weren't completely finished yet. Oh, right. John took hold of Sherlock with both hands, allowing him to thrust away wildly until he came with a cuss word onto John's stomach. He paused, breathing heavily, above John and looked down at him through a halo of dark, wet curls. John smiled, leading him into a kiss. 

"I fucking missed you." John spoke and pulled him down beside him, Sherlock enveloping him in his arms, afraid to ever release him again. 

"I hope I didn't hurt you..." Sherlock meant it. He wanted not to cause John anymore pain than he was already in. He could see the army doctor wincing on occasion as he tried to make himself comfortable.

"No, you didn't." John reassured him. "I certainly hope you plan on sharing this bed tonight. I don't want to be alone." 

"I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock stated and drew him in as close as he comfortably could. In this way the two men fell asleep. It wasn't until Sherlock's phone rang at least three times, and the consulting detective answered it. Mycroft cawed away at him from the other end. 

"I've found some information on the names you extracted from our suspect." Mycroft stated. "It appears you're going to be traveling to Baskerville once more."

It's nice to have the boys reunited once more! Hope you enjoyed it as well. :)


	45. Chapter 45

Sherlock had redressed himself and John Watson and took a seat beside the bed as a knock came on the door. "Come." Sherlock stated and gave John a naughty grin at the utterance of the word. John shook his head with a smile on his face as Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly entered. "John! Oh thank goodness you're awake!" Molly smiled and bent to give him a careful hug. He returned it, if not wincing from the pain in his neck and chest.

"Shall we get on with it?" Mycroft began, his temper still not lessened from his discussion with Sherlock earlier. "Stephen Erickson." Mycroft began to pass out paperwork with a picture of a young man with dark, slicked back hair. He was wearing a white lab coat with the Baskerville insignia upon it. "Works as a chemical engineer in Baskerville, clean background check, nothing pops up on him when searched."

"He's either very good at hiding what he's done, or he's innocent. Which is why we can't just go in and arrest him on suspicion." Lestrade piped up and added. Molly clung to his arm, as Sherlock noticed and he furrowed his brow. Molly's attention was focused on him wholeheartedly. Perhaps something had happened between them that he was at the moment unaware of? Why am I thinking of her like this at a time like this? Sherlock was amazed at all of the strange turns emotion, sentiment, and circumstance were taking him to.

"So, we're going to run interference with Moriarty, allowing you to go to Baskerville, investigate, deduce, whatever the hell it is that you do." Mycroft rolled his eyes. John eyed him suspiciously. What is going on? What have I missed? "Once you've got something, you'll notify us and we'll move in. Or not, if proven otherwise. Understood?" Mycroft gathered the intel back up.

"Sounds like a plan." Lestrade grinned at Molly, who returned it warmly. Sherlock shook it off. He'd find out what had happened at a later time. "I'll accompany Sherlock on this one."

"No, I won't go without John." Sherlock quipped. The room went quiet.

"I'm sure you understand that's quite impossible, Sherlock. Look at the state he's in." Mycroft's voice peaked in volume a bit. Sherlock stood toe to toe with his brother.

"If he doesn't go, then I don't go. I'm not going to just leave him to be shot up again." Sherlock sneered. John rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sherlock." John grunted as he readjusted in bed. "I believe I'll be able to manage. If anything you can wheel me into Baskerville in a wheelchair. I'll be going, regardless." John stated. Mycroft looked from one to the other in vain, turning to Lestrade who only shrugged and didn't want to get involved in the argument.

"Very well. We'll plan for two days from today departure. We cannot waste much more time than that on stubbornness." Mycroft shot Sherlock a poisonous glance before turning heel and leaving.

"What the bloody hell was all of that about?" John motioned to Mycroft as he left and questioned Sherlock. Sherlock said nothing.

"Sherlock became a little distraught learning you'd be injured so he decided to interrogate the suspect we caught at Molly's crime scene." Lestrade pulled Molly close at the mention of it and she blushed.

"Interrogate?" John asked, wondering why that was such a bad thing. It seemed the only logical thing to do if Sherlock were in John's position.

"Interrogated him with a broken glass, a pistol, and a ninja judo chop to the arm." Lestrade mumbled and Sherlock turned to stare at him. He avoided Sherlock's gaze and stood, taking Molly's hand and exiting the room. Sherlock looked after them for a long time.

"What did you do?" John touched Sherlock's arm and he immediately turned his attention to him. "Tell me."

"I saw red, I didn't black out, but I was close. I could have hurt him far worse than I did. I was angry at what had happened to you and I wanted answers." Sherlock got up and walked over to the door, closing it and locking it as was habit. "I bashed his face with the water glass, I threatened him with my gun, and to teach him a lesson I broken his arm. He's not dying, John, he'll heal." Sherlock's voice had lowered to a deadly level as he remembered that day.

John was completely in awe. He'd known Sherlock to be violent, in a completely Sherlock way. That included throwing a CIA agent out of a second story window for roughing up Mrs. Hudson, but never to be vicious as he had been with this person. John wondered if there was a psychopathic bone within that body, not just sociopathic ones. "Come here." He patted the bed next to him and Sherlock once more undressed and entered underneath the sheets with him. John was stiff in the neck but he managed to turn somewhat to see him better. "You did all of that because I'd been shot."

"I am growing so very tired of them trying to hurt you to get to me, John. I want revenge. It's an ever growing feeling within my body, and frankly it frightens me how easy it is to lose control when the one thing you love most in the world is lying up in a bed bleeding out somewhere." Sherlock prattled as he ran his hands about John's naked torso and cuddle up to him. Sherlock was undeniablely vulnerable in that moment. John kissed his forehead.

"You need to get control of things, Sherlock. No wonder Mycroft is upset with you, it could get him into a lot of hot water trying to explain why a suspect in his custody has been bloodied up. Hell of a lot more hot water if you'd killed the poor bastard. How would you feel then?" John knew what it felt like to kill someone. He'd had to do it a lot in the war. Sherlock suspected he was only the army doctor, but he was also a soldier. And soldier's still had to fire upon their enemies. It was unnerving to know that you've taken someone's life from them, but John had come to grips with it and knew how to function under pressure in such a way.

"I thought you were dead." Sherlock sighed. John allowed himself to be snuggled and held tighter, even though it hurt somewhat. Sherlock's hips were brushing against the top part of his own hip bone. He was feeling frisky all of a sudden. What the bloody hell? He's had this effect on me since that very first kiss, dammit. John chuckled to himself. I'm Sherlock sexual, even post surgery and aching.

"I'm alive and well." John turned and brought Sherlock's face to his. He met his lips and kissed them softly. The kiss soon became urgently. It was no longer Sherlock's hips that were rubbing up against John's, but a hard thickness that caused John to imagine naughty things. "And I want you."

Sherlock searched his face, wondering if it was all a cruel joke, because he'd clearly had the effect he meant to on him. "You're serious? Again?"

"Well," John smiled. I want inside you." John stated simply, bringing Sherlock back into a sizzling kiss once more. The consulting detective was quickly wearing down. He ran his hand down below the sheets to palm John's own growing erection and felt his cock twitch with anticipation.

"How-" Sherlock started but stopped to consider the possibilities. He didn't want to hurt John in any way, but it was becoming more urgent that he take him up on his offer. Any chance to be smexy with John Watson was worth the opportunity. John was pulling on the waistband of Sherlock's boxer briefs, running his finger on the inside against his smooth skin and driving the man wild as he did so. Crazy how such a simple touch could cause such a stir.

"Use you're imagination. I can't climb on top of you, but..." John flexed his eyebrows. Sherlock grinning and their kisses blended their mouths into one hungry, ravenous animalistic longing. John brought Sherlock out and stroked him fluidly and agonizingly slow. He threw his head back at the feeling, as it felt amazingly good. He pulled John's underwear down and climbed on to, straddling him. John's cock was pressing up against Sherlock's opening, and teasing him as he allowed John to continue to stroke him as he kissed him. Sherlock eyed the ultrasound jelly upon the nightstand that had been used to visualize the shrapnel within his neck and chest before the doctors had whisked him off to surgery. He slicked himself and John up with it, and John was sighing with desire at every touch. He took some of it as well, working Sherlock's erection with ferocity.

Sherlock's breath was becoming shorter and more rapid. John took it as a good sign to slide a finger inside of his lover, and stroke his prostate. Sherlock nearly bucked on top of him, and lost himself in John's mouth once more as John prepared him with a second finger to join the first. Sherlock's body was aching with want as John stroked him in all of the right places. He reached underneath him, removing John's hand and sliding himself down onto John's cock in one fell swoop. "Sher-!" John gasped at the instantaneous feeling of tightness and warmth. He made no protest as Sherlock began to impale himself upon John's thickness over and over, only answering Sherlock in moans of sheer lust.

John used both hands to pleasure Sherlock as he moved on top of him, whimpering and groaning out John's name as he took control. "I'm close-" Sherlock grunted and John nodded his agreement. He was trying his best to hold out until Sherlock brought them both to the brink and they both toppled over. Sherlock arched his back and cried out as he emptied himself into John's hand. John in return came deep within him, squeezing Sherlock's ass tightly as he did so. Both men took a moment to catch their breath and float back down to reality. "Holy fuck." John moaned as Sherlock removed himself from John and lay back beside him. "Exactly what I had in mind."

"You've turned into quite the horny bastard." Sherlock grinned at John, feeling a sense of relief at a fairly decent romp.

"That I have." Just you wait until I've recovered from this." John motioned to the incisions upon his chest and neck, and Sherlock's smile faltered at the rememberance of them. "I'll have you begging once more. I've done it once I can do it again."

"Mycroft knows." Sherlock stuttered out suddenly and without warning. John said nothing momentarily. "He brought it up yesterday. I don't know if he brought it up to spite me, but he knows."

"Is it such a bad thing? He would have found out eventually, wouldn't he?" John answered. He'd remembered he'd accepted their relationship. He was no longer ashamed of being caught.

Sherlock smiled, relieved, and rolled over with an arm cast over his lover's chest, carefully avoiding the scars. "No, it's not bad. Just shocking. I can't deceive my brother in all things."

"What are we going to do in Baskerville?" John questioned after a time. Sherlock had almost drifted off to sleep but awoke at the sound of John's voice.

"Well, we'll be the happy lovey couple at the Cross Keys once more I suppose. It'll be nice to have a holiday away from everything." Sherlock laughed as he remembered the couple that ran the Cross Keys Inn near Baskerville. "Then we'll penetrate Baskerville again, and get to the bottom of this Stephen Erickson." Sherlock's eyes were bright once more. John knew what this meant.

"Finally. A case." John smiled. Sherlock cuddled close to him and John kissed him lovingly. He waited to hear the familiar dozing of his lover before he readjusted himself. The pain had dissipated during their lovemaking, now it was returning. John wondered how long this would take to recover from. He only hoped he could keep up with his consulting detective and not put him into danger on their so-called approaching 'holiday'.


	46. Chapter 46

Sherlock and John stepped out of the cab and into the main street of Dartmoor for the second time since they'd known each other. John took in the scenery, very much liking the small village quietness of Dartmoor, with its quaintness and quiet. Sherlock flipped his collar up over his scarf as the wind gusted through and John rolled his eyes. His mind flashed back. Trying to look all mysterious with your cheekbones and your coat collar turned up so you look cool. He chuckled at that memory. Even then he feared he had somewhat of a Sherlock sexual attraction but he would have never admitted it.

The two men stood in front of the Cross Keys Inn once more and noticed that the signs about the town still pointed to tourism related to the Hound of Baskerville. John wondered if the kid that ran the tours was still making a pretty penny despite the so-called hound being deceased, thanks in part to his crack shot. Another cab pulled up as Sherlock and John stepped to the side. Out stepped Molly and Lestrade, laughing at something. Sherlock glanced away at the sight. Why does it bother me so? I don't want her, we're friends only. Sherlock still could not place why the feeling bit at him when he saw the two together.

"So," Lestrade started, rubbing his hands together. "Covers?" He was in fact referring to how the group would be interacting over the next few days. Sherlock observed him with a look of exasperation.

"The two of you are happy honeymooners." John piped up. He liked thinking of covers, although he didn't know why. Perhaps because it was fun to play undercover and Lestrade's eyes lit up and he clapped happily at the idea. Molly seemed pleased with it as well. "And Sherlock and I are the happy gay couple."

Sherlock turned to glance at John with a look of awe upon his face, his jaw literally falling open. John shrugged. Lestrade burst into fresh laughter and Molly averted her eyes, knowing that their secret was still safe with her, at least as far as she knew. "That's bloody hilarious! And perfect, you'll blend right in with the owners here. Remember?" Lestrade couldn't hold his laughter. John and Sherlock smiled awkwardly as he took Molly by the hand and led her into the Inn to get a room. Sherlock turned and eyed John suspiciously.

"What?" John grinned.

"Clever." Sherlock shook his head but was smirking as well.

"Well, that way whatever we do will be considered 'blending in' by Lestrade and completely normal to everyone." John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock had to admit it was a clever cover.

"Nothing like hiding in plain sight?" Sherlock quipped and John agreed. "Shall we?" Sherlock offered his arm up to John, who took it awkwardly, not used to being in plain sight of others in their relationship. He had to admit, it had been a clever idea.

The two entered, seeing the men that ran The Cross Keys Inn laughing it up with Molly and Lestrade as they handed over their key. "Have a wonderful stay!" The shorter man, whom John remembered was named Billy, called after them before turning his attention to John and Sherlock. "Oy! Look who it is! Gary!" Billy called and the taller burly man stepped out from the kitchen and smiled as he greeted the two!

"Returning customers! Wonderful!" Gary smiled and offered his hand, which John and Sherlock both shook warmly. "How have you two been carrying on?"

"Well actually. Just decided to take a little time off work and enjoy a holiday." John answered as he pulled his wallet out to pay for the room.

"No no! It's on us!" Billy pushed John's money back into his hand. "Pleasure to have you here, as well as all the business your solving of the Baskerville case had provided. People are still crazy about that Hound, be it dead or alive." Billy searched the key cabinet and pulled down a particular one that Gary seemed to adamantly agree with. "You'll be staying in the suite tonight. Our treat."

"Oh, guys, you don't have to do that." John shook his head. Gary took the key and thrust it in John's palm.

"We insist. Our pleasure." Gary smiled and John took it and handed the key to Sherlock. Sherlock extended his hand once more.

"Thank you. Much appreciated." Sherlock smiled before putting an arm about John's shoulders. "Shall we, love?" He pulled John in the direction of the room and left Billy and Gary gazing after them. John went along, flushing a deep shade of red at the mention of being called 'love' by Sherlock outside the comforts of a locked bedroom.

"Lovely couple, eh Billy?" Gary sighed and patted his partner upon the back.

"Oh, aye." Billy answered and gazed up at Gary lovingly before continuing to clean the pub glasses as he had been.

Molly and Lestrade had opted to roam about town, trying to gain any information they could about one Stephen Erickson. Of course, they took the time to spend a little downtime as a couple as well. They ate in a small village pub that had delicious homemade food, and also walked through the tiny village market that was being held. Lestrade wandered off in searching of something interesting while a stand of makeup and girly things caught Molly's eye.

She was caught on a beautiful red lipstick that she had noticed. She picked it up, noting it wasn't of the usual brands, in fact it was unmarked. There were many colors, but the deep crimson apple red she held in her hands enticed her. She'd never taken to wearing anything quite as daring before and thought that Lestrade would probably appreciate it in conjunction with some heels and a nice set of knickers. She paid for the lipstick and stuck it in her purse to surprise her lover later on that night when investigating was over.

Sherlock and John took to finding the suite, which took up nearly the entire second floor on the left side. It had its own kitchenette, bathroom with shower built for two, as well as a huge plush bed and a veranda with a fantastical view of the moor. The sun was beginning to set as Sherlock removed his jacket and set it on the back of the chair near the kitchenette. "We'll start investigating tomorrow. Now that we're settled in we'd probably better check in with brother dear." Sherlock smirked and pulled out his phone to dial up the number as John wandered out onto the veranda to observe the magnificent colors of orange, pink, and purple that were painting the sky.

Mycroft wasted no time in answering. "Any problems?"

"No. Nothing out of the ordinary as of yet." Sherlock reported, watching John removed his jumper and close the french glass doors to the veranda, pulling the curtains about them so as not to be seen. Sherlock couldn't help but grin. He knew what John was possibly preparing for.

"Seems our plan has worked so far as we can tell. We're trying to get a track on Moran, and we've moved your friend with the broken arm south so as to create a diversion. Not that Moriarty will attempt to retrieve him, but Moran could be out to put a bullet in his head if he's able to quiet him." Mycroft explained. He sounded less irate with Sherlock and more matter-of-fact which was his usual demeanor.

"Alert me if something changes." Sherlock stated. "We're going to bed down for the evening and begin tomorrow. I'll text you when clearance into Baskerville is needed." Sherlock hung up the phone and placed it in his pocket. He pulled out Moriarty's phone and noted the silence that had overtaken it since the incident with the captured suspect nearly three days prior. He shook his head, his mind on other things, and placed it back in the opposite jacket pocket. He then stuck both hands in his trouser pockets and wandered up to the kitchenette where John was opening a bottle of something alcoholic and pouring it into two glasses.

John turned and offered him one, Sherlock taking it with a nod. "Drink up. Might as well take advantage of the suite while we have it." John smiled and clinked his glass with Sherlock's in a toast before they both drank deeply. The after burn was pleasant within John's chest, and helped to take his mind off of the ache that radiated from his shoulder up through his neck.

"Sure you should be doing that with the amount of medication you're on?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly as he continued to drink. John stared at him with an unreadable expression upon his face , watching Sherlock as he took a seat one of the armchairs and sipped. John stepped forward, eyeing Sherlock before dumping the glass of alcohol upon his chest.

Sherlock caught his breath at the coolness of the liquid as it drenched him. He had not been expecting that type of reaction. Had he angered John? If he had it hadn't been his intention. "What are you doing?"

"Taking full advantage of the suite while we have it." John stated, leaning down, hands on either of the armrests and licking from the first undone dress button all the way up Sherlock's neck to the tip of his chin. Sherlock shivered with delight. Oh. Naughty John is back.

"I must say, I rather like the fact that you've completely regained your memory. Although I'm afraid it might have had some effect on you as you used to be a bit more shy about it." Sherlock smirked as John undid the buttons all the way down and pulled his shirt open to reveal his firm chest and stomach. He began to lay kisses upon the exposed areas, lightly, teasingly, tasting the alcohol mingled with Sherlock's own cologne and taste. Sherlock sighed. It was a most titillating feeling, and the visual was extraordinary. By the time John had reached Sherlock's groin to toy with the button on his trousers, Sherlock was ready to meet him. John glanced up.

"I believe we are agreeing that this is a most agreeable idea?" John stated before licking and kissing his way back up until he stopped at Sherlock's earlobe and nibbled it teasingly, sending another tingle throughout his body.

"Mmm." Was all Sherlock could respond with. He reached up and pulled John's tucked in shirt free of his jeans and pulled him in close for a kiss. "We've got to make this happy gay couple thing as believable as possible." John winced as Sherlock kissed up his neck, but he refused to be a wimp about it, knowing the alcohol and the pain meds were in full effect and that he wouldn't be feeling too much pain for too long.

"I hope you don't mind, I packed a few extra things." John whispered in his ear and suddenly Sherlock felt the tickle of vibrating thing tracing designs upon his lower belly. He glanced down, noting that John had packed the silver toy he had become accustomed with. He most definitely remembers. "I believe it's time you were acquainted with it." Sherlock groan as the vibrations traced down the hardness of him. It felt aching good and he decided it wouldn't be such a bad idea.

He pushed John up from his position leaning down in front of him and pulled at the button on his jeans, pulling them and his briefs down to expose him, and Sherlock wasted no time in taking him into his mouth. John watched as Sherlock consumed him hungrily. "Bloody hell-" John gasped as Sherlock took to palming his balls as well, a rather pleasant sensation between the two of them. If Sherlock continued on there would be little more teasing to be done. "On. The- bed." John choked out between rapid breaths. Sherlock paused, glancing up at John with a wicked gleam in his eye. He released his lover and stood.

John pulled the bottle of lube from his jean pocket as he bent to step out of his clothes. When he glanced back up. Sherlock was on the bed, naked as well, and anxiously awaiting John to join him. John laid on the bed, knowing that to be on top was not a possibility yet and Sherlock obliged, rolling over on top of him and between his legs, locking them into an intoxicating kiss. Sherlock was grazing his cock lightly to return the tease, and John felt his hips bucking rhythmically to meet him in hopes of more friction.

John proceeded to lube up the toy and tease it about Sherlock's opening as he straddled him. Sherlock bucked himself, wondering where exactly John was going with it as he traced it about all of the sensitive areas down below. He moaned into the kiss as John circled closer and closer...until finally penetrating Sherlock with the toy and causing him to suck in a breath at the sensation. "Fuck..." he moaned as the vibrations radiated through him, brushing his prostate and causing him to throb achingly for John to replace the toy and fill him up.

"Ah, now you see exactly how I felt." John chuckled as he moved the toy in and out, preparing Sherlock for his own erection that was desperately begging for attention. It was an amazing turn on to see the faces of ecstasy that graced his face as John pleasured him.

"I want you." Sherlock gasped, arching his back into John's hand as he toyed with him. "Now, please." Sherlock met John's eyes and gave him a look. The look. John pushed the toy further inside and took hold of Sherlock's cock as he did so, causing the man to writhe on top of him. "I'm begging you!" Sherlock reluctantly stated and John pulled the toy out and immediately allowed Sherlock to take him inside of him, slowly, moan with desire as he was filled up with John to the hilt. He wasted no time moving on top of John, and John took his own turn in whimpering and moaning Sherlock's name at the feeling of heat and tightness that was his lover.

John pumped Sherlock rhythmically as he rode him, bringing Sherlock to his end more quickly than Sherlock had expected. John couldn't contain himself any longer, as Sherlock came across his belly he emptied himself completely into him with a cry. Sherlock stilled himself as he sat on top, his chest rising and falling, his heart racing and could be felt as John was still situated inside of him. "You're a right horny bastard now, John Watson. What have I done to you?"

"Not like you to complain is it, Sherlock?" John smiled as Sherlock moved off to the side. They lay together, naked and sticky upon the bed, laughing and relaxing. "I'd like to hope that wasn't too shabby for an injured man with a vibrator." Sherlock was struck funny with this statement and they joined in another round of laughter.

"You'll be taking on my dry cleaning bill if you continue that." Sherlock laughed and rolled over onto John once more, drinking him in in a deep kiss. John nodded.

"Agreed. Expect many more spilled drinks." He laid back, looking into those brilliant blue-green eyes once more before Sherlock had risen and helped him up off the bed. They agreed to one more glass each of the alcohol before a shower and retiring to bed. Their day in Baskerville would prove to be a busy one.


	47. Chapter 47

John and Sherlock made their way in the jeep once more towards Baskerville. The two remembered the ride very well from the first time they'd ventured out this way on their previous case. John had once again allowed Sherlock to drive, as he seemed to enjoy it and didn't get to do it very often. He spent the ride gazing at Sherlock's strong, chiseled profile, remembering the events of last night vividly within his mind. He felt his face flush as the images flashed in front of his eyes. Sherlock seemed to notice, as his usual mischievious smirk appeared on his face when he caught John looking.

"What's the plan? You can't exactly go in as you are. You're still dead remember?" John asked as they viewed the Baskerville facility off in the distance further down the road.

"The art of disguise, John. Although it won't be a very convincing one if they pay as much attention to my flattering cheekbones as you do." Sherlock was making a try at being funny and John couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock ruffled around in the dufflebag he'd brought with him and pulled out a wig. A blonde, bowl cut wig that made John snort with laughter at the thought of Sherlock in it. Sherlock's smile faded. "What's so bloody funny? It's a disguise."

"I don't prefer blondes." John chortled and Sherlock shook his head. He pushed the wig back down inside the bag and placed both hands on the wheel once more. "It'll do. And if it doesn't, then our cover will be blown but hey, at least we'll be stuck in a top security facility with another of Moriarty's lackeys. No big deal." John had the flare for the dramatic Sherlock noted.

"Perhaps we can make a bet, just the two of us. Liven things up a bit." Sherlock stated curiously as he drove. John's interest was peaked.

"Such as?"

"If I correctly deduce who Stephen Erickson is on this first trip then I get to chose the activity tonight." Sherlock grinned and glanced at John. John raised an eyebrow and shook his head in agreement.

"If you correctly deduce him within twenty minutes and what his game could possibly be." John added. Oooh, upping the ante! John's a gambler for sure. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him as he pulled over on the side of the road.

"If I correctly deduce who he is and what he's up to within twenty minutes of being in the facility, I get to tie you up and do with you what I will." Sherlock was serious. John was silent a moment.

"As long as you keep in mind I'm post surgery and can't do much with this neck and shoulder than deal." John stuck his hand out and Sherlock took it, overjoyed to have an extra incentive to solve the case. Just like the old days. Well, lacking the entire sex...thing...John shook it firmly.

Sherlock released John's hand to apply the wig, and John could not help but show his amusement. Sherlock looked nothing like himself in a blonde bowl cut wig. He also removed his scarf and coat and threw it in the back seat, pulling out a tweed jacket, a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, and a tie. He put the jacket on and the glasses and leaned over for John to help him with the tie as he never wore them. He looks like bloody Stephen Hawking. John shook his head and looked away. "What?" Sherlock quipped.

"Brilliant. Let's hope your acting matches." John answered. Sherlock pulled out his phone. "Mycroft. We're almost to Baskerville. We'll need clearance. Yes. John's got his badge. Don't forget the name." He hung up the phone and took to driving once more.

"So what's your cover, blondie?" John asked and smiled widely. He was going to enjoy this immensely. Sherlock glared at him, unamused.

"Bob Suruncle. Research assistant for a local cleaning product company. Supposively he's been working on some new products that he's been testing." Sherlock stated. John fell over in the seat in a fresh fit of laughter. "What's so bloody funny?"

"Bob Suruncle? Did you come up with that on your own?" John was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"No, Lestrade and Mycroft helped with the cover." Sherlock stated. "Why?"

Bob's your uncle? Really? Lestrade you bastard. "Nothing, it's original. It just sounds really funny." John answered as they pulled up to the Baskerville gates. The guards opened them as they showed their badges. They pulled up and parked. John looked at his watch as Sherlock made to exit the vehicle. He glanced up at Sherlock and pushed the button on the watch. "Twenty minutes." Sherlock narrowed his eyes once more. He knew what John was up to but he was adamant on beating him at this game.

As they approached the facility the security officer approached them, ready to escort them through the facility. "Sir, may I ask your reason for visiting, sir?" The man questioned as they neared the door.

John stepped up to the plate once more. "Appointment scheduled with a Dr. Stephen Erickson. In regards to marketing on behalf of Mr. Suruncle here." John stated and showed his credentials. He loved pulling rank, and he didn't do it often. It seemed to come in handy while working with Sherlock Holmes.

"And you sir are Mr..." The officer questioned as a disguised Sherlock Holmes held up his fake credentials.

"Bob. Bob Suruncle." Sherlock answered and the officer gave him a queer look before turning to escort them inside. They slide their badges and entered.

The facility was the same as it had been last time. White immaculate walls and floors, various science experiments being performed and all sorts of military personnel and people in white lab coats rushing around doing what they did best. Sherlock walked fast, wanting to reach the correct floor of this massive top secret facility to find Erickson, and perhaps to prove to John he was still as sharp as he'd ever been.

They reached the fifteenth floor and the officer showed them to a lab full of people wearing gas masks. The officer knocked on the glass and alerted one of the scientists who approached and decontaminated the area to allow the three of them to enter. Two men and a woman seemed to be the only inhabitants of this particular work space. One of the men, of reddish facial hair and a somewhat receding hairline stood and greeted them. "Ah, you must be Mr. Suruncle. We've been expecting you. And you sir are?" The man shook Sherlock's hand and extended it to John.

"Not important, higher up. Just escorting your associate here to the meeting. New Baskerville protocol." John stated, knowing if the man asked to see credentials he'd have to show them and his name would possibly be red flagged to Moriarty. The man did no such thing, just gave a stout smile and shook his hand, turning his attention back to Sherlock. "Would you like to have a look at what we are currently working on?" Sherlock nodded and followed the man, who leapt into a long winded explanation of their goings on in the lab that morning.

John waited around, catching bits and pieces here and there of the conversation, finding none of it very fascinating. He checked his watch. Sherlock had only eight minutes left before he lost his bet. John imagined what he might have in store for Sherlock if he lost. He'd make him beg again. He loved to hear how badly Sherlock wanted him inside him. He heard a commotion and glanced up.

"Everything looks all good and well here, I believe the company will be quite satisfied with what you've prepared. They're going to pony up plenty of dough for the things you've manufactured. Are the cleaning materials the only things you've been working on for marketing?" Sherlock was shaking hands with the ginger haired man once more.

"Ah, no. We've got our fingers in many pies here at Baskerville." The man laughed heartily and Sherlock smiled attempting to match his enthusiasm. "Cleaning products, medicines, cosmetics."

"I see. All properly tested?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yes. We wouldn't want to poison someone by accident or cause someone's skin to rot off now would we? Mess of paperwork." The man laughed once more. John gulped. Strange way to put things. He noticed he had a pain coming on in his shoulder where the bullet had made contact. Damn it, time to take my bloody pill. He glanced at his watch once more. Ha, two minutes left. Looks like I win. John smiled and looked up as Sherlock said his last farewells.

"Nice to meet you all. I didn't catch your name?" He shook the darker haired man's hand.

"Thomas Walsh." The man answered. Sherlock turned to the red haired man who seemed to be running the outfit here.

"Stephen Erickson, at your service." The man smiled as he shook his hand once more. he pulled out a card and wrote a number upon the back and handed it to Sherlock. "If you have anymore questions, I'd be more than happy to assist you." Sherlock nodded, took a little goodbye bow to be polite, and turned to exit the lab. The woman decontaminated once more before allowing them outside the door. Sherlock and John felt into step. John's watch beeped. Sherlock grinned.

John said nothing as they followed the security officer back up through the elevator and out of the facility. As soon as they had jumped back into the jeep and were free of the gates, John turned to Sherlock. He had pulled the blonde wig off as well as the glasses and was mussing up his curls. "Okay, one guess. Time was up after you'd concluded your visit for your marketing. What's the goings on?"

"Obviously you see that I identified Stephen Erickson as he told me his own name. No surprise there." Sherlock smiled. "And the man is planning on a mass genocide with common household products."

"How do you deduce that?" John asked.

"Simple, he told me that he was involved in production and testing of household products, cosmetics and the like and then hinted that no one needed to end up poisoned. Obviously." Sherlock was finding this game rather too easy. John looked defeated.

"Alright. I'm going to take your word for it. You win. You got it in under twenty minutes. But," John held up a finger to make his point. "If it turns out to be a different case, then I get something special since I'm giving you this one in advance."

"Fair enough." Sherlock was ecstatic. He knew he was still as sharp as ever and now he got to have his delicious way with his John Watson soon. Oh the things he could do to him...

Molly Hooper stood in the Cross Keys Inn guest bathroom preparing herself for an evening out with Lestrade and the boys. Lestrade had promised them a round of drinks and Molly was itching to try out her new weapon of seduction: her new red lipstick she'd found in the market.

She had donned one of her favorite dresses that she only pulled out for special occasions, this being one of them. It was white, with a corseted waist, and covered in red cherries with the stems and all. It was very pretty, and the red of the new lipstick matched it perfectly. Lestrade would have to find out whatelse she'd managed to purchase while in town. That was underneath the dress and not to be seen until later. She felt wickedly sensual as she applied the lipstick, and found the color empowered her to a certain degree.

She heard Lestrade enter the room and stepped out after checking that her hair was holding its curl. Lestrade caught sight of his Molly all dolled up and his jaw nearly fell open. "You look absolutely lovely, Molly." Lestrade kissed her lightly upon the cheek and she giggled.

"You like it?" She asked as she gave him a twirl.

"Oh yes, beautiful." Lestrade answered, offering his arm to her as they made their way out the room and down to the pub that lie within the Inn. Sherlock and John had already claimed them a table in the back corner, away from the little business the pub had at this time of night. John stood to greet Molly, as did Sherlock. Sherlock avoided looking straight on at her, as he still had those uneasy feelings of watching Lestrade fawn over her, and her return the attention. Perhaps I should ask John why I keep feeling this way? Is it guilt? Is it some inner emotion I haven't been able to identify yet? It's annoying. He couldn't describe it as a longing or a loving feeling, because he only felt that way when he looked at John, or brushed up against him, or loved him in sinful ways when the two of them were alone.

"A round?" Lestrade offered and called over Billy to bring them one. The group sat about the table and discussed the days events. Molly and Lestrade had not been able to uncover too much in town about Stephen Erickson, but they did note that Baskerville had a hand in many dealings with Dartmoor's residents. Many products from the facility came there since they were close and they were bought fairly cheap. Sherlock wondered if the residents of Dartmoor were being used as guinea pigs. Baskerville was a research facility besides being a military base. There was little telling if this was the case. John and Sherlock filled the two in on their dealings within the facility.

"Perhaps tomorrow we can find out exactly how far stretched Baskerville is in dealings with Dartmoor and the surrounding area, as well as how involved the chemical research floor is in what's distributed." Lestrade stated. John toasted to that, and Sherlock had to agree he was thinking along the same lines.

As the night grew long, Sherlock was itching to get John back to their room and seal the deal that had been made earlier in the day. John could tell he was getting antsy, as he continuously put his hand on John's thigh throughout the night whilst they were visiting with Lestrade and Molly. John would catch himself flushing red but then remembered that there cover was indeed no cover at all and that it was perfectly okay for them to be touching in public. John figured he could have a bit of fun with that, but perhaps would save it for another day. He was curious as to what Sherlock wanted from him once their suite door shut them off from the outside world.

As the group finished their evening catch up, they walked Lestrade and Molly to their room. Lestrade shook their hands, Molly went in for quick kisses on the cheek of each of the men that stood outside the door. John admittedly felt a little strange after Molly laid her lips upon his cheek. The room was starting to spin a bit, and Molly was looking a little to enticing to him. Damn that alcohol. Of course, before I was into Sherlock I was into women, so this isn't really all that strange. Molly was staring at John as well, as though she were feeling slightly lightheaded. Lestrade was glancing between the two, and his eyes locked with Sherlock's for a moment.

Sherlock was gazing at Molly with a look that Lestrade knew all too well. Lust. His eyes were afire with it. He wondered what the fuck is going on here? as he noticed John had the same look. Molly turned to Lestrade and planted a kiss directly upon his lips with her red lipstick and he felt a bit dizzy. That last pint did me in. That's all this is. A little inebriation. Nothing to be worried of. Lestrade smiled and continued to kiss Molly as they stumbled into the room.

Sherlock was completely confused. As soon as Molly had lain her lips upon his cheek, wanton desire had ignited deep within him, and it was not for John. He was gazing at her like she was a piece of meat, and he knew in the logical circuits of his brain that he lusted for John, not for her. The two times they'd lain together were not because he wanted her, but because he needed a release of emotion, and she was the perfect and only outlet at the time. Why do I feel so dizzy? He hadn't had near as much to drink as John or the others had so he was puzzled. In a last ditch attempt to shake the physical longing he was feeling for a woman he didn't love, he grabbed John and pulled him into a close mouthed kiss on the lips. John's eyes went wide. Lestrade's mouth fell open.

John was near panic at the fact that Sherlock was kissing him in front of Lestrade, the one person at least who didn't know the truth behind the two of them. Molly didn't seem to take notice, and John was feeling frisky as he returned the kiss. Sherlock finally broke it off and the two stood in front of their companions in a shocked silence. Suddenly, Lestrade broke into a somewhat intoxicated laugh. "Good cover boys! That was pretty fucking convincing!" He chuckled as Molly took hold of his face in her hands and laid another kiss upon him. His knees seemed to buckle from it. "Goodnight, lads." He waved hazily and shut the door.

Sherlock took hold of John, leading him up the small stairs to their guest suite and swinging John inside. As soon as the door was shut, he pressed John up against it, pinning him with his hips and devouring him once more with a kiss. "Sherlock-" John struggled to get a word in between breaths.

"Don't speak. I won the bet." Sherlock smiled, taking John in for another long, electric kiss. John felt his knees weakening as well "I'm going to fuck you, John Watson. And you're going to enjoy every bloody minute of it." John couldn't argue, as the idea of Sherlock buried deep within him was causing his cock to twitch and weep within his jeans as the words met his ear.


	48. Chapter 48

John's mind was buried in a deep, fuzzy, intoxicated haze. He was currently pushed up against the door of their guest room while Sherlock devoured him in a deep kiss. Their tongues tangled and explored, as did Sherlock's hands all over the length of John's fit body, beneath his jumper and up around the muscles of his abdomen and chest. John could barely think, and he wasn't sure if it was the alcoholic inebriation he was feeling or the poison of their passion that was causing the interruption within his neural pathways. Either way, he was far too gone to refuse Sherlock even if he had wanted to.

"Sherlock-" John came up for air as Sherlock moved his soft lips to John's neck and nibbled as he lingered there momentarily. His hands were working at the buttons on John's shirt beneath the jumper. John momentarily noted that his hands were burying themselves on the inner side of Sherlock's belt and searching for something thick and hard to grab onto... "How are we- You've got to be careful of-" Sherlock took hold of John's earlobe with his teeth and bit down slightly, causing places within John to tingle that rarely ignited unless something exotic was being done to him. He sighed a bit, finally reaching the inside of Sherlock's briefs and making contact with the length of him. Sherlock sucked in a breath, as he was more than ready to claim John and that singular thought alone caused the warmth within his groin to flame up once more.

"Hush. I won the bet. I'll have you begging this time, Dr. Watson." Sherlock took him once more into a deep kiss and John melted, his knees buckling. Sherlock caught him up around his waist and made to move him towards the bed. John followed, but refused to release his lover, making it somewhat difficult for Sherlock to maneuver. Sherlock pulled the jumper and now unbuttoned shirt over John's head in one swift move, quickly moving to plant kisses along his collarbone and chest. John closed his eyes, as the room continued to spin and blur, the sensations of Sherlock's velvety kisses upon his heated skin sending shock wave after shock wave through his body to one central destination. Sherlock made quick work of John's jeans and slid them down, unceremoniously enveloping John's erection with the whole of his warm, most mouth. John cried out at the sudden tight wetness and took hold of Sherlock's darkened curls with both hands and pulled slightly. The sensation was painfully sensual to the consulting detective, who devour John over and over relentlessly.

"On the bed." Sherlock took a breath to instruct his lover and shoved John down onto the bed softly, as not to harm him. He did remember that John had had extensive surgery. He wouldn't be too rough. Just rough enough. Sherlock smirked to himself. Sherlock removed his jacket and dress shirt, but left his trousers on, much to John's disappointment. "Scoot up." Sherlock instructed and John scooted back until he was up near the headboard. Sherlock straddled the army doctor and took hold of John's hands, raising them above his head and pulling something out of his trouser pocket at the same time. John was unaware that he had even been tethered to the wooden headboard by the time it was done, as Sherlock had skillfully done so while taking John in for another kiss. John glanced up once he'd realized his predicament and sighed. He didn't mind being tied up at all, but it did make him nervous and somewhat excited at the same time. A potentially lethal combination. He never knew what to expect out of Sherlock when he himself was tied to a guest room bed with two of Lestrade's ties.

"Lestrade will be looking for those." John quipped smartly as Sherlock straddled him, still clothed from the waist down and smirked down at him with hands upon his hips. Sherlock went slowly for his belt buckle, as did John's eyes.

"I think perhaps we'd better gag you." Sherlock stated, his voice becoming deep and sensual once more. John's cock jumped, noticeably it would seem as Sherlock's eyebrows both raised at the feeling. "By the feel of it, I suppose you like that idea as well." He slowly unzipped his zipper, pushing his trousers down slightly and bringing out his own erection into full view. John sighed at the sight, remembering previous nights of lovemaking, the feeling of blissful fullness and friction that Sherlock's member produced within him. It had been a long while since John had gotten to experience that feeling, and his body was trembling for it. Sherlock began to stroke himself slowly, probably to tease John Watson as he watched, unable to partake in the festivities. Sherlock moved up far enough to offer the tip of his cock to John and cocked his head to the side quizzically.

John opened his mouth and licked the very tip, sending electric tingling throughout Sherlock. "More?" Sherlock questioned. John said nothing, only nodded. He offered more of himself to John, who took him into his mouth and ran his tongue about what he was allowed. Sherlock could hardly contain himself. He softly took hold of John's sandy hair and bobbed his head forward, savoring the feeling. John was getting good at this. Sherlock waited til he could hardly contain himself, then scooted up further, allowing John to take as little or as much of him into his mouth as he dared. John was enthusiastic, taking Sherlock in all the way to the pubic bone, Sherlock's erection hitting the back of his throat with each bob of his head. "Bloody hell, John-" Sherlock was losing himself. No, no, no. He's going to have all of me before this is over with. My fucking fantastic John Watson. Oh gods...Sherlock was losing mental capacity to reason as well as John licked him and sucked him gently.

Sherlock backed away, removing himself from John's mouth with a lot of willpower going into that decision. He gazed into John's eyes, taking in all of the desire and lust and love they held. Through the sexually charged and possibly inebriated haze, he glimpsed his entire life within those eyes, and John viewed the same through Sherlock's brilliantly blue ones. Sherlock kissed him in that moment; a kiss of love and wanting and happiness at love discovered. Then he made to move down the length of John's neck and collarbone. Down his chest, circling his belly button and the outline of the cutlines John possessed on either hip. John was practically writhing with anticipation by the time Sherlock reached the top of his pubic bone and the throbbing erection that was standing wantingly at attention. Sherlock licked the length of it, returning the favor, even though he'd won the bet. He enjoyed pleasing John as much as John enjoyed pleasuring him. Only fair. He removed his trousers and briefs as he teased John in this way, and removed the bottle of lube from his pocket as well.

He lubed up his fingers and teased John's opening as he took him fully within his mouth and John's hips responded at the sensation with a buck. Sherlock steadied him, teasing him longer than was probably needed before inserting a finger to prepare John. John moaned, wanting more, wanting to fuck himself on those fingers, but finding that Sherlock was holding them at bay just enough to tease him. "Please, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced up at him and smiled. This was what he was wanting. "What's that, Dr. Watson?"

"Please. I want. Ungh-"

"Louder please. I can't hear you down here."

"I- want you to- Oh bloody hell, you know what I want!" John was beginning to raise his voice in frustration. Sherlock inserted another finger with an emphatic "Yes!" for an answer.

Sherlock moved his fingers within him, brushing his prostate, causing the doctor to squirm and moan with pleasure and frustration. "Oh, I suppose that's all then?" Sherlock removed his fingers and John groaned.

"No! Please. I'm-" John grunted. "I'm begging you!"

"Begging me to what?" Sherlock reinserted his slick fingers and rubbed John's prostate firmly. John bucked once more. "I want you to say it, John. Tell me what it is you want me to do." Sherlock's grin was ear to ear now, and his own erection was begging and weeping right along with John.

"Fuck me, Sherlock!" John yelled out, not caring who heard or cared. Sherlock's cock twitched at the enormous turn on that simple sentence provided and immediately slicked the length of himself up. He was within John in two smooth motions and John cried out as he entered him. At the same time he released the ties that held John's hands to the headboard, allowing the man to grab hold of Sherlock's hips as he moved relentlessly inside of him. John was in pure bliss, the feeling of fullness and thickness rubbing him in all of the right places was going to topple him over the edge within seconds...Sherlock taking hold of him within two slick hands as he fucked him did the trick. He came so hard it nearly hurt for a second or two before he settled into a happy afterglow. The tightening of every muscle within his body took hold of Sherlock and brought him to climax not long after. He settled himself with hands on either side of John as he spasmed within him.

"Fuck!" John gasped as he caught his breath hot and ragged within his lungs. He watched Sherlock intently as the consulting detective steadied himself.

"Brilliant as always." Sherlock smirked at him. He was pleasantly sated. At least for the moment. He pulled himself out and toppled onto his back beside John. The room was spinning before both men's eyes as they lay staring at the ceiling. It didn't take long for the two to drift off into a dreamless sleep, cuddled up within each other's loving arms.

John and Sherlock awoke late the next morning, heads somewhat achy from the night before, bodies both strenuously sore from their evening romp. They couldn't help but give each other knowing glances as they exited the room and stopped by Lestrade and Molly's to see if they were in. A few knocks on the door revealed they were not. Sherlock checked his phone. "Ah. They've already gone to see about the marketplace to note any of Erickson's products being released in Dartmoor. Looks like early bird gets the worm." Sherlock shrugged and placed the phone back into his pocket.

"Perfect opportunity for a bit of breakfast then." John smiled and the two headed into the Cross Keys pub to grab a bite to eat. Gary and Billy met them and gladly took their order with a bit of conversation thrown in for good measure. The two enjoyed their coffee as they awaited their meal.

Gary and Billy brought out their breakfast promptly and the two couldn't deny that it smelled absolutely delicious. "Say, that round of drinks last night surely did the trick. I don't think I've ever gotten that drunk that quick off of a pint before." John laughed as the plates were set in front of them.

Gary and Billy exchanged a look. "Oh, well, that's what we were going to bring up to you this morning, boys." Gary stated and Billy gave him a tail between the legs look.

"What's that?" John questioned. Sherlock took another drink of coffee.

"The round we brought you boys last night was accidentally the nonalcoholic. Billy here got yours and the table on the other side mixed up. He was going to apologize and make it up on the house tonight. You boys were having such a wonderful time with your new friends that we didn't want to catch up with you and ruin the fun when you left the pub." Gary stated. John and Sherlock exchanged confused looks.

"But- You mean, we didn't have any alcohol whatsoever?" John asked. Gary shook his head no.

"Sorry. Round's on us tonight to apologize." Billy stated.

"Okay. All's well. Thanks." John answered and the men went back to their bar. Sherlock and John simply stared at each other over their breakfast as they began to unwrap their silverware.

"So, what was the drunkenness about then?" John whispered softly to Sherlock. He shook his head, not understanding. They had both felt it, there was no denying. That room spinning, fuzzy headed feeling of no inhibitions. What could have possibly caused that? Sherlock felt that this particular part of the puzzle perhaps linked them to Erickson. Could Erickson know who they really were? Was Moriarty aware that they were in Dartmoor and not South as originally planned by Mycroft and his trick with the questionable suspect?

John and Sherlock ate in silence, hurrying to meet up with Lestrade and Molly and see what had happened last night between the two and if they had experienced a similar feeling on the nonalcoholic beer.


	49. Chapter 49

Sherlock and John caught up to Lestrade and Molly strolling through the weekend market that seemed to be a multiple day event throughout Dartmoor. Sherlock pulled his coat about him and turned the collar up, much to John's amusement. The tension was thick in the air between them as they questioned their mental state the previous night.

Lestrade turned to see them approaching and gave Sherlock a nudge. "Hell of a night, eh?" He smiled, winking as thought the joke was still a running one. Sherlock only gave him a forced grin as he did so. Lestrade laughed as he pulled Molly in for a tight hug. She looked happy, and John was glad to see her that way. She and Lestrade were a perfect fit. Sherlock still felt a pang or two, but was learning how to ignore it. Whenever the feeling struck, he focused his attention on John and all the world faded away into nothingness because nothing matter as much as him.

"An interesting one in the very least." Sherlock noted. Lestrade gave him a questioning look. "Did you both feel inebriated last night when we left the pub?"

"Well, yeah. We were all stumbling up the stairs like a bunch of giggling idiots." Lestrade stated. Molly laughed at the way Lestrade had described it, for it had been true.

"It would be interesting to note that the rounds we consumed were nonalcoholic." Sherlock quipped. Lestrade's eyebrows raised in surprise. Molly stopped her giggling.

"That can't be, we were all tipsy." Molly said and glanced at Lestrade. He shrugged.

"The innkeepers told us this morning at breakfast. So, perhaps we were drugged?" John finished with the question and glanced at Sherlock.

"I have a feeling this has Stephen Erickson all over it." Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets and surveyed the market scene. "Perhaps he caught on to us yesterday at Baskerville."

"That quickly? I must say you were quite convincing as Bob Suruncle." John smiled as he said it, chiding Sherlock, who still didn't quite get the joke. Lestrade and Molly broke into fresh laughter. John felt a bit ashamed but he couldn't help himself.

"Either that or Moriarty's caught onto our trail. If that's the case we need to be extremely careful." Sherlock slipped an arm around John's shoulders which caused Molly to smile to herself and Lestrade to extend his bout of laughter.

"I must say, I'm pretty convinced. Perfect cover, boys." Lestrade shook his head. He'd be telling the crew at Scotland Yard about this most definitely when things got back to normal. John was blushing, his body still betraying what his mind was thinking, but he instinctively leaned into the slight embrace Sherlock gave him and couldn't help but grin.

"Shut up, Lestrade." Sherlock stated and started off admiring things here and there upon the market way. Lestrade pulled Molly in by her waist and they went about the market as they had been. Sherlock and John noted a great many things for sale, homemade wares and the like. A thrifty type of stand caught Sherlock's attention. He rummaged through a pound bin and found a cosmetics case marketed with a strange symbol. The Baskerville insignia graced it as well. "John." John came over and took the case from his hands, studying it.

"What's that?" John pointed to the other symbol on the case that didn't make a lot of sense. Sherlock thought for a moment before pulling out his wallet and pulling Erickson's card from it. He studied it, gave John his trademark smirk when he'd figured out something clever, and handed the card over to John. The very same symbol graced the business card. John met Sherlock's eyes. "Erickson all the way?"

Sherlock turned back to the pound bin, searching through it and located another three cosmetic cases and purchasing them from the dealer. He was having fun now, he was onto another clue. "We can study their chemical makeup once we return to the room later." Sherlock met up with the happy couple and pulled Lestrade and Molly to the side. He showed them the cases and the card. "Anything with this symbol you purchase. We'll have to do a makeshift lab up in the inn." The two nodded and separated so as to locate more of Erickson's Baskerville wares.

Sherlock was lost in the sights of his microscope once more. John could barely catch his attention since they had returned. Sherlock had Mycroft to ship the science equipment at once while they had still been at market. Now he'd taken over the kitchenette in their guestroom and was performing various experiments on their findings. John decided it would probably be best to leave the detective and Molly to their doings. He asked Lestrade to join him downstairs in the pub for a drink.

"Is that eyeliner sample ready yet?" Sherlock asked without looking up from his current slide. Molly was busily working away preparing samples.

"Hold your horses. Almost got it." Molly sighed as she mixed up yet another sample with a chemical. Sherlock sighed in exasperation, as he was never one for waiting. He glanced up and studied her as she stood and worked on their slides.

"Are you and Lestrade getting along alright?" Sherlock inquired, curiously. Molly stopped and looked at him quizzically, as if the question were a loaded one.

"Well, yes. He's very good to me." Molly's cheeks blushed pink at the mention of Lestrade. She wished like hell she could remember what had happened the previous night, but her memory failed her. The entire night had been one of haziness and blurred visions. She had contributed this to their drinking beforehand, but finding out that they hadn't really even been drinking baffled her. The intoxication seemed to be real.

Sherlock was feeling pangs of regret for asking the question, but at the same time confusion. He could not understand why he was feeling the way he was about her. He was in love with John Watson and supposively jealous of Molly Hooper gaining affection of another man? It didn't make any sense. It wasn't logical. "I must confess something." Molly watched him intently with confusion upon her face. She was hoping the following words were not going to be one's of repressed I love yous. She was almost certain it wouldn't be. "I am most happy that you've found someone good in Detective Inspector Lestrade. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect." Sherlock sighed. "I do not understand sentiment or most emotions especially when it comes to love..." Molly's smile was faltering. "But when I see you with him I feel the weirdest sensation within my chest. I do not know what to label it as, as I know it isn't love. Forgive me but you are my friend and nothing more. But I don't understand why I feel as I do when this happens."

"Perhaps its regret? Guilt?" Molly couldn't help but feel relieved. She knew he didn't love her in the way she had previously wanted him to, and she was quickly falling in love with Greg. "Perhaps you feel bad for bedding me when this entire thing began, or perhaps you feel protective of me much as an older brother would?" Molly thought hard on the subject. "If I could feel what you feel when you experience it it would be much easier. I don't know what to tell you."

"Well, let it be known that you are my closest friend, and that I care for you deeply as such." Sherlock was nearly blushing. He had never talked at length on emotion but he felt the words needed to be said. Molly smiled and approached him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"And let it be known, Sherlock Holmes, that I will always be your closest confidant whenever you need me to be." She smiled and placed a friendly peck on his cheek. Sherlock instantly felt a bit drowsy, strangely inebriated out of nowhere. The room began to swim and spin a bit.

"What-" Sherlock closed his eyes as the sensation was nauseating him somewhat. He felt flushed, heat filling him up, and the most familiar reaction was beginning down below for no reason whatsoever. "Molly-"

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" She looked very concerned, taking hold of his face in her hands and trying to steady him and meet his eyes. "Are you going to pass out? Tell me what's wrong!" The meeting of their eyes was not the right idea in this case, but Molly was unaware. As soon as they locked in a gaze, Sherlock felt an overwhelming urge to pull her to him and kiss her. That's not rational? What the hell- His mind was not working as it should, losing its sharpness and rationality. He gazed at her, her own brow wrinkled with confusion and wariness at the way the detective was looking at her. "Sherlock-"

Before another word could be said Sherlock's lips were upon hers. He kissed her much the way he kissed John Watson, and poured himself into it. His mind was screaming for him to stop, but his body would not behave itself. Molly struggled against him, confused and bewildered.

It was then, as it always seemed to be with timing for them, that John and Lestrade came through the door laughing about some story that had been told not a few minutes before in the pub. John and Lestrade noticed the situation at about the same time and both jaws hit the floor. "What the fuck-" Lestrade mumbled. Sherlock seemed not to hear but Molly was looking in her boyfriend's direction motioning for them to do something and quickly.

John stood for a moment longer, his heart a bit broken, watching as Sherlock kissed Molly the way that he always longed to be kissed by Sherlock when he looked at those soft, perfect lips that had been so many places upon his own body. He didn't know what to make of the situation, but rather than stand and assess the situation he started forward. He wanted to stop Lestrade before someone got hurt, as Lestrade was visibly livid. Lestrade took hold of the back of Sherlock's jacket and yanked him off of Molly and the stool he sat on. Sherlock and Lestrade fell to the floor, John coming around just in time to note that Molly was okay. "What the hell are you doing?!" Lestrade was yelling at Sherlock, who was writhing on the floor much the same way that he had when he'd been drugged by Irene Adler. John glanced at Molly.

"Are you wearing makeup?" He asked her. Molly shook her head. "Yes or no?!"

"Uh, well, no. But I didn't remove any that I was wearing last night..." Molly answered.

"Show me what it was you were wearing last night. Hurry, before Greg kills him." John said as Molly hurried out of the room. John went to pull Lestrade up from his position straddling Sherlock on the floor, and Lestrade pushed him away. Molly returned, holding the lipstick that she'd purchased at the market the day or so before. John took it. Erickson's insignia as well as the Baskerville symbol were on the tube. John bent and grabbed Lestrade, pulling him up off the floor with all of his strength. His neck rang out with fresh pain, and John knew he'd been paying for that later. "Look!" He shoved the tube of lipstick into Lestrade's face. Lestrade took a moment but focused upon it. "What's this?" He took it and looked it over.

"That's what Molly was wearing last night when we all felt drunk. She hasn't taken the reminents of it off today." John turned to her. "Did you kiss him then?"

Molly stuttered. "Not like that! I gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek and he started acting drunk..." Molly was nearly in tears. Lestrade came to her and pulled her into a hug. John glanced at Sherlock who lay on the floor in a state of drunken unawareness.

"It's not his fault. It's Erickson. Quick, Molly, swab your lips for a sample and prepare a lipstick sample as well. Lestrade, if you've calmed enough, help me get him onto the bed." Lestrade gritted his teeth, still somewhat angry about what they'd walked in on, but complied and helped to get the shaky detective onto his feet and onto the bed. John studied him. Eyes were dilated fully, temperature was up, skin flushed. Makeup that causes an increase in libido? John wondered. "Sherlock?" John smacked him a bit on the cheek. It seemed to rouse Sherlock momentarily.

"John..." Sherlock registered and smiled leaning up to kiss him. John pulled away, noting that Lestrade was in the room and did not yet know of their secret. "What happened? I feel so...horny. Is that the correct term?" Sherlock laughed. John looked at Lestrade and shook his head. He went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and came back to Sherlock. He proceeded to clean the detective's face, scrubbing hard as to remove any traces of Molly's lipstick from him. He smacked Sherlock a bit more. "John? What the bloody hell..." Sherlock seemed more with it after a few minutes, much to the group's relief.

"Just relax. I think we've got a bit of a tip on Erickson's doings. You've just been a guinea pig to it." John stated and ran his hand over Sherlock's curls in a loving gesture. Sherlock glanced warily up at him, and then in the direct of Lestrade, who still stood fuming from what he'd witnessed as he held Molly to him. Fucking wonderful. The first rational thought to enter into his brain as he came around.


	50. Chapter 50

"Slides are almost ready." Molly sheepishly stated as she continued her work with her chemicals and slides. She had almost catalogued and prepared a sample from each cosmetic case as well as the lipstick she had purchased that seemed to be causing so many problems. Sherlock sat across the kitchenette table facing Lestrade, who leaned on it fuming still from their recent brawl. John stood at the edge of the bar, hoping to play mediator.

"I still don't believe that any makeup force pretty boy here to make a move on Molly." Lestrade stated, keeping eye contact with Sherlock at all times. Sherlock sat, arms crossed, rolling his eyes, now it would seem completely recovered from his recent encounter with the lipstick.

"I swear to you, Detective Inspector, I had no motive in kissing Molly that wasn't drug related." Sherlock growled. He was not happy being in the position of being accused. He did not remember kissing Molly, only the peck on the cheek after their conversation. He wondered if Lestrade and John had not popped in when they had if things would have continued on. Does this chemical effect the wearer as well? Or just whomever they come in contact with?

"Finished." Molly smiled at Lestrade and stepped back, her smile faltering a bit as she observed Lestrade keeping a close eye upon Sherlock as he rose and rounded the kitchenette to begin his experimentation. He began to apply the slides to the flat table of the microscope and study them intently. The group watched him work, as he began to assemble his chemicals for testing upon the slides. John sighed.

"I have a feeling it might be a bit." John stated, as Sherlock seemed to lapse into these quiet concentrations often. Lestrade nodded, and Molly came round to join him, hugging him close. "I'll order room service." John took hold of a nearby pad and pen and jotted down an order, going about the room and asking what each person would like as well as noting what Sherlock would probably eat and decided to walk the order down to the Cross Keys Inn pub to place it.

John waited patiently as their order was prepared, sitting at the pub bar and having a glass of his favorite, and assuredly alcoholic beer. He people watched, noting that there weren't very many people coming in and out of the pub tonight, though there was a rather large gathering in the banquet room around the other end of the building that was keeping Gary and Billy notably busy. John hoped that Lestrade was still playing nice upstairs, but he understood why the Detective Inspector had become so heated at the moment.

John was shaken as well when he'd glimpsed Sherlock kissing Molly, but not to the extent as Lestrade. He knew that Sherlock was his, and that whatever had happened was most likely to be Molly's doing in one way or another. Which was still hard to believe. It has to be the lipstick. Has to be. John could only hope. Otherwise, his heart was in for a lot of pain if there were not clues in the makeup.

John watched as the cleaning lady pulled her cart through towards the janitor's closet. His mind was wandering, until he noticed the logo on the cleaning lady's bottles of cleaner. He got up from his seat and walked over, taking note that the Baskerville and Erickson's insignias were upon the bottles. "Excuse me miss, I've had a bit of a spill in my room...may I borrow this?" He took hold of a smaller bottle of the cleaner and held it up. She agreed that would be fine and he thanked her.

"Order's up, love." Billy called as he came out holding their food in large plastic bags. "Need some help?" John shook his head, pocketing the spray bottle so it hung off his pocket.

"No, thanks. I can handle it from here. Thank you." John smiled and took hold of the food, starting off towards the room.

John entered the room to find Sherlock going on and on about something, very excited and talking a lot with his hands. Lestrade looked to be much calmer, and Molly was listening intently. John set the bags down on the smallish dining table and came over to join in the conversation.

"Pheromones! That's what Erickson's manufactured into the makeup!" Sherlock announced. "Brilliant marketing scheme, I must say. Something like a love potion." Sherlock's mind was racing, John could see it in the way his brilliantly blue green eyes searched in front of him, seeing through everything and seeing nothing all at the same time. "Woman, or man I suppose, applies the makeup, something in their skin ignites the pheromones, next thing you know, whomever comes in contact with them is instantly intoxicated by them."

"How is this a bad thing then?" Molly asked, somewhat naively. Sherlock paused, as if to question if she really wasn't understanding.

"Imagine getting whatever you want just because someone is in love with you. Or something chemically fake masquerading as love." Lestrade explained. Molly glanced back at Sherlock and then at her hands in her lap. Molly knew all too well exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of this, except there were not manufactured chemicals at play in her situation. It still stung a bit.

"So, Erickson's going to market love potion makeup to those who will pay a good price I suppose? And the people of Dartmoor are the guinea pigs?" John spoke up. Sherlock glanced up, train of thought instantly derailed.

"Precisely!" Sherlock grinned at him. He always felt elated when he had deduced something he thought to be infalable. John returned the grin. He approached, holding up the cleaner bottle.

"Curiously, I found this on the cleaning lady's cart." John handed the bottle to Sherlock, who noticed the symbols on the plastic bottle and glanced at John.

"We'll get to studying this," Sherlock glanced at the dining table, suddenly feeling peckish. "After dinner?" He smiled and motioned for them all to take a break and eat, a very unusual Sherlock thing to do, John noted but he went with it as he was also famished.

After they had finished their food, Lestrade and Molly were yawning. John glanced from them to Sherlock, who was looking through the table deep in though once more. "I suppose Molly and I are going to retire, if that's quite alright by you." Lestrade said through another yawn. He stood, as Molly did as well. Sherlock glanced up and he and John stood as well.

"I suppose it is getting late. We can continue tomorrow." Sherlock glanced sideways at John, noting that soon the two of them would be alone with their thoughts once more. He noted the tube of lipstick laying over beside the microscope and he picked it up, handing it back to Molly. She glanced up into his eyes, confused. "May I propose an experiment?"

"Oh gods, Sherlock, really?" Lestrade rolled his eyes and hung his head.

"Well, with the effect its already seeming to have, I suppose you'll like this idea." Sherlock spoke down to Lestrade as if he were missing the point. Molly looked up at him and smiled, knowing exactly what he was meaning. "Unless you'd like to be the one wearing the lipstick, either way suits me fine."

"So you're wanting me to wear it and see if it continues to have the same effect?" Molly questioned. Sherlock nodded and smiled at her, a friendly understanding smile. Molly took hold of Lestrade's arm and the two left the room, Lestrade's face slowly changing from exaggeration to one of understanding and happiness as the door shut and locked behind them.

Sherlock walked around and observed the remaining cosmetics that were available. These consisted of concealer, eyeliner, a clear lipgloss, and now the cleaner that John had brought in. He turned to John. "I suppose the experiment doesn't have to be so one sided." John cocked his head and listened. "I'd much like to see what effect this chemical has on the wearer."

"You're going to wear makeup?" John smirked at him. He headed into the bathroom. "Shower? I feel after such a long day we need one." He disappeared inside and Sherlock noted the water turning on. He glanced at the lipgloss, picking it up and applying a thin coat to his lips. He stood for a moment. He didn't feel any different. Well, perhaps a little bit lightheaded but nothing to be concerned about. He walked towards the bathroom, glimpsed John in the process of feeling the temperature of the water, already shirtless. Sherlock could already feel familiar stirs within him, but he did not attribute it to the lipgloss. It was purely his physical attraction to the half naked army doctor who stood in front of him currently.

He walked up behind John Watson, running his hand around his chest and resting his chin upon his sandy hair. John smiled lovingly, knowing that it was just the two of them and whatever they wanted to get up to in this room. Sherlock's hands wandered, as they always seemed to do, and he didn't stop them as they helped him with the button and zipper on his jeans before sliding softly inside and rubbing him to attention. John leaned back into him, ignoring the pain that still throbbed on occasion through his neck and shoulder.

John turned to face Sherlock, unbuttoning the detective's shirt and sliding it off of his lean shoulders and tossing it to the side. His hands slid up his neck and into Sherlock's dark muss of curls, pulling him in for a kiss. Sherlock met him with excitement of melting into John's lips and melding their bodies and souls into one once more. He thought for a second that he may have glimpsed a bit of a tingle as their lips met but he couldn't be sure if it was more than just their electric tingle. John's arms enveloped him and pulled him tight against him. Their kiss lasted for what seemed like forever before they separated.

John was looking at him rather hazily. Sherlock smiled and kissed him once more on the forehead. Perhaps this lipgloss doesn't contain the same chemical, or perhaps it doesn't work man to man? Or perhaps even it doesn't have a strong enough content to affect a man of John's weight and horomone balance...He felt somewhat guilty that he was using John as a guinea pig as well, but he needed to make a deduction and John was only chiding him about wearing the makeup...

John was upon him feverishly before Sherlock could even finish the thought. He was pulling at Sherlock's trousers and off of him with an urgency he'd never detected within the doctor before. "John?" He questioned as the doctor grabbed hold of him once more and led him into a heated, molten kiss. With his free hand he was pumping Sherlock relentlessly. Bloody hell...Sherlock thought. Perhaps it has different libido effects on different people. John was going to have his way with Sherlock it would seem, and Sherlock was more than happy to comply. Who is the guinea pig now? He reached down to take hold of John, who was impressively hard and throbbing already. Wow. Sherlock had not expected the chemical to affect John in such a way as this, almost like a topical viagra that affected the entire nervous system instead of just the organ.

John disregarded the shower water that was still running, he walked Sherlock out to the bed and collapsed them both upon it, still lost within the kiss and rubbing groin to groin vigorously. Sherlock was fearing he'd come too quickly at the rate that John was stroking him, but at that thought John flipped Sherlock over onto his stomach and pulled him into an all fours position. He had also managed to locate their lube with surprising quickness that Sherlock hadn't even realized he'd reached for it. John took only enough time to lube up his hands before returning them to Sherlock's aching erection as well as his opening. Sherlock moaned and leaned back into John's probing hands, loving the friction that John was providing. He knew the doctor was more than ready for him as he stood behind him. "Go on then for gods sake..." Sherlock breathed as he became closer and closer to his peak with each increasingly rapid breath.

John hazily accepted this invitation and entered Sherlock firmly but not causing him any pain. Instead Sherlock raised up on his knees, leaning back into John as he began to move inside him. John continued his assault upon Sherlock's cock, but at the same time wrapped his other arm about Sherlock to hold him upright and steady, fully enjoying the extra tightness and warmth this position was creating while he was deep within his lover. John could not control his actions. He wanted nothing more than to fuck Sherlock into oblivion, although he was able to retain a trace of his love towards his partner, and therefore did not just pound away relentlessly into oblivion.

"Fuck-" Sherlock bit into his lip as the heat and electricity building deep within his core was reaching uncontainable levels. "Come with me-" Sherlock begged as he gasped and cried out. John joined him in his cry of pleasure, right into Sherlock's ear which only added to the intensity of his orgasm. The two men came together in a blanket of pleasure and lust before doubling over and collapsing upon the bed. John spooned up against Sherlock, holding him tight and laying soft loving kisses upon the back of his neck. Sherlock struggled to catch his breath, but cherished the kisses as they ignited the nerves on his oversensitized skin. "Fucking fantastic as always, Dr. Watson." Sherlock smiled. The doctor merely nuzzled into his halo of hair.


	51. Chapter 51

The daylight filtered in through the large glass doors and woke John with a start. He yawned as he glanced about with squinted eyes. He knew that he'd drawn the blinds as night had fallen the previous night. He reached over instinctively to wrap his arm about his partner, only to find the bed empty. He sat up and glanced through sleepy eyes.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen bar pilfering through various science equipment and meddling with his microscope, shirtless. John didn't complain. He loved to see his lover in his element. "Up early aren't we?" John said through another yawn.

"Early bird gets the worm, isn't it?" Sherlock glanced up momentarily to give John that shy half grin he only gave when he was either truly amused or up to no good.

"I suppose so." John exited the bed, naked, and grabbed up some boxers that he'd laid out for the next day. It was hard for the army in him to die away. He rounded the bed and came up behind Sherlock, planting a domestically sweet kiss upon his cheek as he glanced over his cheek. "Find anything interesting? Are we still looking at the makeup samples?"

"No, no. I decided I wanted to take a look at the cleaner you found. I've been preparing the slides." Sherlock sat a slide to the side of the microscope and glanced up at John as he went to prepare coffee. "How are you feeling?"

"A little hungover it seems." John cocked his head to the side as he said it. "I can't quite explain it. I know we didn't have anything really enough to make me fee fuzzy headed." John ran his hand through his hair and Sherlock turned his head back to his work to avoid letting John see the smirk that was ever widening on his face. John glanced at him, noting his lack of response. "What did you do?" John asked. Sherlock ignored him, waiting for the slide to set so he could view the samples. "Sherlock." John's voice was firm and unyielding. "The makeup? You weren't wearing any."  
John glanced down, seeing nothing but the eyeliner and foundation. Then he noted the lipgloss hidden among the other junk that cramped the small guestroom bar. "Bloody fucking-" John sighed in exasperation. "I was an experiment last night, wasn't I?"

"We did nothing we wouldn't normally have done in that situation." Sherlock noted matter-of-factly. "I simply wanted to gauge how it would feel to the one who wore the makeup to gain some perspective." He turned and noted John's irritated expression. "I must say though, I believe it responds to each person differently. You were more keen than usual to take me for your own."

"That may be true, but you shouldn't experiment on people without their permission. What if something bad had happened to me? A reaction of some sort?" John growled.

Sherlock knew exactly how to diffuse the situation. He turned and stood, revealing that he was in fact completely nude as he sat and worked at the bar. John's jaw nearly fell open, as he wasn't expecting it. "Alright then." He picked up the gloss and offered it to John. "You apply it and use it on me." John stood, not knowing what to say. "We've both had it on us, I think the effect is had on the next person the wearer comes in contact with physically."

"That's not fair. You aren't playing fair." John huffed, although staring at Sherlock's nakedness made the offer extremely tempting.

"Of course it's fair. I used it on you, now you can use it on me." Sherlock pushed the gloss further towards John, who took it out of his hand rather angrily. He looked at it and considered.

"If I kill over I will fucking haunt you." John stated as he popped the cap off and applied the lip gloss, a rather thin layer as he felt somewhat girly as he did so. It wasn't lip balm, it was lipgloss, damn it. Meant for girls. He felt a bit of a tingle after applying it and raised an eyebrow.

"Feeling strange?" Sherlock questioned. John shook his head no, as the tingling went away after a few seconds. "Ready?" He grinned and came in for a kiss. John met his lips and kissed him firmly, wanting to express to Sherlock that he was still angry with him despite melting into his kiss as he was. Sherlock noted the feeling of fuzziness, blurred vision, and haziness was beginning to cloud his vision.

Suddenly there came a banging on their thankfully locked guestroom door. "Sherlock! John! You'd better come quick! Those newlywed friends of yours seem to be having a row and the man is calling for you." Billy yelled through the door. John broke the kiss, taking Sherlock by he shoulders and holding him at bay. He glanced at his detective, who was looking at him lovestruck.

"We'll be right there! Thank you!" John shouted back, hoping that was enough to deter the innkeeper from trying to enter the room to get them. He looked Sherlock over, his member standing at attention already, and the puppy dog eyes he was giving him were indications that the lipgloss was having its almost instantaneous effect upon him. "Sherlock, come on. Get dressed. We've got to go see what's up with Lestrade and Molly." Sherlock started to come in for another kiss but John actually dodged it. "Snap out of it!" He said and lightly slapped Sherlock on the cheek. This seemed to rattle him a bit.

"What? Oh yes, right." Sherlock spoke faintly but turned to find his clothing. John helped him to hurry along the process as he dressed himself. Soon, Sherlock seemed to be coming around more, and the two were out the door and hurrying to Lestrade and Molly's room. A great banging greeted them as they neared the door.

"Oy! Molly! Open up!" John yelled. No response, just some faint yelling as if Lestrade were on the inside of another room within the room. He was shouting. "What's that?"

"She's gone ballistic! She's got a knife! Be careful!" Lestrade yelled from within the room. John's eyes widened and he glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't seem to help his gaze as he did so, but he broke it off quickly. Great damned time to try out the lipgloss. John thought to himself and shook his head. He drew his firearm and nodded at Sherlock before kicking in the door.

Surely enough, Molly stood in front of the bathroom door that Lestrade had apparently locked himself inside of and was holding a huge butcher's knife she had probably wrangled from the kitchen below somehow. "Molly!" Sherlock called after her, drawing his own firearm slowly. Molly turned, nearly zombified, wearing the bright red lipstick that Sherlock had returned to her the night before and encouraged her to continue to use. "Well for gods sake..."

"Reaction?" John asked sarcastically. Sherlock merely gave him a look. "Molly, put down the knife. What's gotten into you?" John asked her. She merely stood in her nightie and gazed nearly through the two men who stood with guns aimed at her. John made to approach her, noting that Molly did not try to attack or fight him. He took the knife from her hand and grabbed a nearly towel, wiping the makeup unceremoniously off of her face, smearing it across her cheek. He tossed the towel to Sherlock. "Wet it for me." Sherlock did so and returned it to him so he could remove the residue. Molly's eyes seemed to uncloud a bit as he did so.

Sherlock allowed Lestrade out of the bathroom. he was sweating and in his pajama pants as he came out. "Bloody hell." He breathed. "I've been locked in that sodding bathroom for nearly two hours. I woke up to her holding that damned knife over me."

"Why did you not have her remove the makeup after..." Sherlock didn't want to finish the sentence because he felt another increasingly familiar pang at the sheer mention of Lestrade sleeping with Molly. Damn it, why do I keep feeling that?! I thought after discussing it with her...

Lestrade blushed a bit and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I don't really remember a lot so I don't think I could have remembered to tell her to wash it off." He shrugged. Sherlock shook his head. He approached Molly after John was done with assessing her.

"She appears to be coming around a bit now that it's off." John stated. Molly was rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Wha-" She started and looked confusingly from one man to the next. "What's going on?" She glanced down, noting that she was only in her nightie. She gasped and hurried into the bathroom to grab a robe. She emerged red faced and completely baffled. "I don't remember getting out of bed..."

"Seems you've just given Lestrade the first taste of domestic bliss in this relationship." Sherlock quipped and John gave him the look this time. He continued, "Is this familiar to you? Did your last wife do the same thing? She obviously didn't succeed for here you are..." Sherlock raised both eyebrows. Lestrade shot him a nasty look and went to Molly. She hugged him tightly.

"Did I hurt you? I don't remember after-" Molly started but John cleared his throat loudly as he viewed Sherlock's wincing expression as she started her sentence off. John stared at Sherlock a moment longer, wondering why the thought of Molly and Greg between the sheets caused him such a pained look. I'll looking into that later. He told himself.

"It appears that the longer the makeup is in use the more it acts on the person," Sherlock noted as he neared John. He smelled John's cologne as he passed by in his deduction and wanted nothing more than to take him into his arms, turn his face up to his, and kiss him long and hard. Perhaps he would, he felt his willpower slipping out from his muscles. He shook his head, hoping to clear his mind. "Or perhaps the longer it works on the body, a different chemical is released? Causing one to want to cause harm instead of lust?" Sherlock rubbed his chin as he walked off in thought. John sighed and followed him as he started out of the room and towards their own. "Perhaps the cleaner holds some sort of clue." Sherlock picked up the pace at that thought. He was onto something new.

"I knew it. I knew it!" Sherlock jumped up from his seat in front of his microscope once more. John glanced up from his paper as he sat across the bar. He was amazing Sherlock had been able to concentrate on the task at hand long enough to make a deduction. He was still gazing at John like he was a piece of tender meat. "The cleaner is a brilliant example of chemical warfare." Sherlock rubbed his hands together delightfully.

"What is it?" John asked as he rounded and bent down over Sherlock's shoulder to look through the microscope. Sherlock noted the cologne wafting up once more and was trying his hardest to resist the urge to let his lust take over.

"It contains a chemical that if reacting with another horomonal level would produce a very violent effect. Whether suicidal or homicidal I won't be able to tell." Sherlock mumbled. John stood back.

"Gods, we've got to warn Billy and Gary." John said and started for the door. A strong hand caught him and yanked him into an embrace. Sherlock was taking John against his will, whether he liked it or not. John tried to gently push him off. "Sherlock, this is serious business."

"As is this." Sherlock pushed his crotch into John's hip and rubbed his growing erection against it. John let loose a little groan as he did so and instantly cleared his throat. "You've been trying my willpower all morning, John Watson. Don't tease me any further." Sherlock bent in for another kiss and John met him this time, sinking deeper into their love and canceling out any outside interference. Sherlock slipped his hands about John's waist and held him gently as he kissed him. John noted that Sherlock seemed lovey dovey towards him instead of a ravenous animal like he had felt the night before. The drug certainly had different effects in response to different people.

John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt slowly as they kissed and slid it carefully off of his shoulders. He admired the slim, lean frame of his lover as he ran his hands lower. Sherlock followed suit with John's clothing and soon their clothing lay pooled in the floor about them. They stood close, embracing and liplocked. John let Sherlock lead, as he was gently loving him and John couldn't help but enjoy the tenderness that Sherlock was expressing. He felt loved and warm deep to the depths of his soul.

Sherlock and John didn't bother to make it to the bed but instead wound up on the carpet beneath their feet. Sherlock topped John, taking him within his warm, soft hand and began to stroke him into longing as he kissed John's jawline. John lifted his hips to meet Sherlock's grip upon him and Sherlock smiled, hazily and lovingly. "Allow me to make love to you, John." Sherlock whispered breathily into John's ear as he kissed about the top of John's jawline. Sherlock rolled his fingers in the precum that leaked from John's cock and rubbed them to lube them before exploring John's opening and preparing him. John was in ecstasy from the familiar sensation and the anticipation of Sherlock entering him and filing him to the brim with pleasure.

John took hold of those dark curls as Sherlock entered him slowly and gently, causing the doctor to arch his back to meet him as he did so. He ran his hand about the curve of Sherlock's ass, coming to pull at Sherlock's thighs to pull him further in. John couldn't get enough of his detective. They sighed together as Sherlock moved swiftly but sweetly within john. Their breaths mingled and quickened, their lovemaking became immediate and unquenchable. The fire burned deep within their groins and coursed through their blood as their bodies came together over and over again. John opened his eyes long enough to note that Sherlock was gazing at him intently as he loved him, a longing and desire within those brilliant sea green eyes that took John's breath away. John grabbed Sherlock by his slender hips and quickened his pace, the two coming together in unity and cries of pleasure as they did so, staring into each other eyes.

Sherlock could not look away as they finished, just simply gazed at him as they lay together on the floor, sticky with sweat and their fluids. "Why could we have not discovered this sooner?" John asked between breaths as Sherlock sighed and removed himself from his lover.

"I have often thought the very same thing." Sherlock smirked as he offered a hand to help John up off of the floor. John glanced at the door, hearing footsteps quickly approaching and noting the lock on the door was not done. He pulled Sherlock onto the floor and grabbed the sheet from the bed to cover the two of them. Lestrade burst through the door, searching for the two men.

"We've got a scene in the pub!" Lestrade cried out, searching the room for the two, and finding nothing but a messy undone bed and sprawls of clothing about. He wrinkled his brow at the sight of it. Surely to maintain cover, as it obviously looked like the room of a couple who'd just finished a good romp. Not seeing the two hiding upon he floor he backed out and slammed the door behind him. Sherlock waited a few seconds before standing up and helping John back up off the floor. The two quickly dressed and hurried down to see what the ruckus was about.

The scene the two men walked in on was bordering on massacre. The pubs tenants had taken to bodily harming each other, and in the center of the room sat the cleaning lady's cart with Erickson's bottle of cleaner atop it.


	52. Chapter 52

The scene was absolute chaos. Half of the pubs occupants were attempting to flee the premises to escape the other half, who were crazily attempting to attack them. John, Sherlock and Lestrade had drawn their weapons and Lestrade was doing his best to yell over the ruckus to get everyone's attention. John glanced over and peeked behind the bar, noting Gary and Billy were cowering together in each others arms, tears streaming down their faces, terrified. John joined them and came up as close as he could possibly get. "What the hell is happening?"

"I-I don't know!" Gary called out in response. Billy cowered closer and held him tighter. "We were cleaning up after lunch rush and all of a sudden one of the men stabbed another with a fork and then the lady in the corner bashed someone's head into the table and before we could break it all up it was an all out brawl." John heard glass crashing and breaking. He popped up from behind the bar with gun pointed and noted that Lestrade was in a scuffle with a patron. Sherlock was racing around the room shoving off attackers here and there, pistol whipping a few in the process, but reaching towards the light switches on the wall. He turned and motioned up towards the ceiling and John followed his motions. The fans! He's going to air out the chemical! John flipped on the fan behind the bar and ran to open the back door as well. Sherlock flung open the front door and the people began to run for their lives out into the streets of Dartmoor.

Within minutes the commotion seemed to resolve itself as the cleaner's fumes dissipated out into the cool air. Sherlock assessed the crowd, especially the ones upon the floor. Lestrade did the same. John helped Gary and Billy up from their hiding place, nervous. "Oh gods..." Billy nervously stated as he surveyed the crime scene. The local police had shown and Lestrade was currently instructing them on setting up the scene.

John made his way over to Sherlock. "The cleaner did this?" He asked in awe. Sherlock's eyes flitted over the scene. Three patrons dead, five more injured. Countless fleeing the scene with good cause. He turned and confiscated the bottle of cleaner and placed it in a plastic bag that Lestrade had provided. Sherlock turned the other way to look for more casualties or clues and John got a better look at the wash of blood that was currently cascading down Sherlock's left temple. "Good gods, you've been hurt." John grabbed a nearby napkin and pressed it to the cut just above the temple. Sherlock looked down on him with smiling eyes at John's concern. Lestrade watched them curiously, but noticing the scared innkeepers huddling behind the bar he figured they were keeping up appearances and rightly so.

Sherlock and Lestrade spent most of their day sorting out the pub scene as well as the people who were involved. Sherlock had promptly sent John upstairs with the bottle of cleaner, telling Molly to be careful as she prepared the samples to observe the chemical makeup of the cleaner and what could have possibly started such a scene. John had returned about an hour later, noted that the blood was drying on Sherlock's head but the wound was looking angry. He took Sherlock aside and whispered to him, "You need that looked at. Come on."

"But John, I'm almost done with-" Sherlock protested but John was already dragging him by his arm out of the pub and up to their room. He instructed the consulting detective to enter the bathroom and sit, and with a frown Sherlock complied. There was an entire crime scene down here to pilfer through and here he was being babied over an injury he didn't even feel. Molly worked away at the bar on the samples as John grabbed his medical kit and joined Sherlock in the bathroom.

"What exactly happened?" John questioned as he grabbed his tweezers and picked a small piece of glass from the wound.

"I got hit in the head by an older man with a pint glass." Sherlock grumbled. John worked away at cleaning his wound and Sherlock didn't protest. John stood in front of him, close, looking over the wound and deciding a few stitches were needed. He prepared his supplies and set to work. Sherlock held perfectly still, taking hold of John's hips as he stood in front of him and leaning into him as he worked. John smiled, he couldn't help it. The close touch and sweetness of the gesture touched his heart. The door to the bathroom swung slowly open, Molly stood on the other side and slumped her shoulders.

"Sorry to interrupt...um...whatever this is. I've got them all prepared." Molly smiled tiredly and left the men to their ways. Sherlock made to move but John held him back.

"Just a second, hold your horses." He sighed as he snipped the last of the stitches threads before moving out of the way. Sherlock was up and out of the bathroom before another word could be said. John shook his head disapprovingly while he cleaned up after himself and joined the two out at the bar. Sherlock was once again deep in thought as he studied the prepared slides. Molly said nothing but simply looked on.

After a while, Sherlock stopped and looked up from his microscope. "It's hormonal. The makeup was pheromonal, but this is hormonal. A large amount of testosterone mixed with a synthetic chemical to produce an aggravated aggressive state." Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin as he spoke.

"So, they go to spray the cleaner, something reacts, and everyone goes nutty and tries to kill each other." John added.

"Precisely." Sherlock winked. Molly brought over another set of slides.

"Then explain these. These were taken from the cleaner John brought up the other night." Molly said as Sherlock switched out the slides and took a closer look. After a few minutes he glanced up and John could not read the look upon his face.

Sherlock rose quickly, heading out the door. Molly and John followed closely behind, trying to figure out what was going on. He met Gary and Billy down behind the bar as they watched the police work on their pub. "Where does the cleaning lady reside? Does she rent room here?"

"Agatha? No, no. She lives down the road a bit on Grommond Circle." Billy stated, not being allowed an afterthought as Sherlock exited the Cross Keys Inn and headed in the direction of said road. John struggled to catch up. Molly followed closely behind.

"What's this about, Sherlock?" John asked as he followed.

"The chemical makeup in the other cleaner was completely different and still hormonal." Sherlock frowned as he spoke. "If I'm correct, Agatha may no longer be in the land of the living."

They circled about, noting the sign that stated Grommond Circle, and headed towards the first house on the street. John knew they had no way of knowing whether this house was Agatha's, but he supposed Sherlock would go door to door until he figured it out. As it turned out, he was correct, as there was no answer to the door. Upon barging in he noted the shadowy figure of the cleaning lady swinging from the wooden rafters of her kitchen. John averted his eyes sadly. Molly gasped and threw her hands about her mouth in shock. Sherlock turned. "The right amount and combination of chemicals and hormones to cause one to go into a great depression and become suicidal."


	53. Chapter 53

"We're going to have to go in again." Sherlock stated as he rushed around the guestroom at the Cross Keys Inn, searching for what though John didn't know.

"In disguise of course." John answered. He watched Sherlock, wondering exactly what was flying through the consulting detective's brain at the moment. He worried at times like this if there was going to be something crazy and possibly dangerous floating around in there. 9 times out of 10 he was correct.

Molly and Lestrade stood to the side, Lestrade with hands in his pockets, Molly with arms behind her shifting weight nervously from side to side. "No, John. It's time we took him in for his involvement. We won't need a disguise this time. Just plain old Sherlock and John Watson. I'm so ready to cuff this bastard." Sherlock gave John a wink. John blushed momentarily at it, hoping Lestrade didn't see. He didn't seem to.

Sherlock seemed to find what he was looking for. A spray bottle, the small kind that you took on holiday with you if you needed some of your own product to go along with you. He donned gloves and promptly began to fill the bottle with a bit of the cleaner. He also stuck the clear lip gloss within his pocket. "Just what the bloody hell are you thinking of doing?" Lestrade asked as he watched Sherlock work. John had an idea but he wasn't about to spout it out. It was hard enough keeping their secret from the outside world. Seemingly everyone had discovered it except Lestrade.

"What I'm thinking of doing, Detective Inspector, is arresting Erickson for his involvement in a near homicidal riot in a pub as well as the death of a worker." Sherlock stuffed the small spray bottle inside his coat pocket and straightened his scarf. He checked his other pocket for his concealed firearm and found it to his liking.

"So..." Molly started. Sherlock shot her a look but she ignored it. "You're going to spray him with his own chemical?" Sherlock actually grinned at Molly.

"If it comes to that." Sherlock answered.

"Perhaps you'll want the other bottle then as well if you're going to spray him?" Molly questioned. Sherlock simply stood and stared at her for a moment. She walked over and turned the two bottles of cleaner towards him. "I took the liberty of marking them. You wouldn't want to spray him with homicidal cleaner would you?" Molly couldn't help but grin a bit. Lestrade's was ear to ear. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his obvious mistake and tossed the small spray bottle to John.

"Could come in handy nonetheless." Sherlock stated as he dug out another bottle, this one filled with some sort of misting spray of John's, emptied it, and filled it with the other bottle of cleaner. "Now." He stated once he was finished. "Lestrade, if you'll kindly contact my brother and let him know we're going in to apprehend Erickson and possibly round up the local police force. Molly, Ms. Agatha's body's been laid out in the local clinic for you to perform your postmortems. Let me know what you come up with and prepare me some samples, if you would." Sherlock clapped John on the shoulder and gave him a knowing look. "Dr. Watson and I are off to bring in this chemical engineering menace." Sherlock headed towards the doorway and John followed.

"But what's the lipgloss for?" Lestrade called after them. Sherlock knowingly ignored that he'd heard the last comment, and John made no movement to turn about and answer what he thought could be Sherlock's reasoning. "Bugger." Lestrade sighed and pulled out his phone to phone Sherlock's older and very concerned brother in regards to the current goings on.

"Ready for this?" Sherlock asked as they pulled through the gate at Baskerville once more.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Sherlock. But I'd like to have a bit of a game plan in case things go a little weird in there? Like they always seem to have a way of doing?" John sighed. He was a bit nervous, but his trigger finger stayed steady as he clasped his hands together in his lap. "I rather would like to know what you plan to do with the lipgloss?"

Sherlock gave him his mischievious half grin and John wondered what he'd gotten himself into. "Well, I plan on charging in, firearms at the ready, stating what we know he's done and that he's being apprehended. We will have guards in tow with us. If that doesn't work, we will simply use the sprays, although be careful using yours." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. John waited. Sherlock sighed. "And if it comes down to it, we kiss them."

"Sorry, what?!" John started. Sherlock pulled the lipgloss from his pocket and began to apply a layer of it. John watched him. "I'm not kissing any men, or women, for any reason in this facility." John argued.

"You'll do it if it means your life." Sherlock handed the tube of clear lipgloss to him. He stared at it, growled his disagreement, and promptly applied it as well. His lips tingled momentarily. "What would happen if we kissed each other now?" John wondered out loud and shook the thought from his mind. Sherlock grinned to himself before exiting the vehicle and becoming serious again.

Sherlock and John entered Erickson's lab once more. They waited for the decontamination process to complete before they were let inside. The woman and the two men sat at their places working once more. Erickson glanced up as they entered. "To whom do we owe this honor?" He asked as Sherlock and John entered with a group of Baskerville military in tow.

"I believe you know exactly why we're here, Erickson." Sherlock started in, smugly. John simply stood beside him, hand on his firearm, ready to react. "Had any interesting conversations with your boss lately?"

Erickson grinned, knowing he was found out. "No, but I'm sure he'd be very interested to know you're in this part of the world and not where he expects you are at the moment..." Erickson came around to face his would be captors. The other two simply stared at the scene, confused. "Like my little trick? Just wait. A mass production is underway and currently being shipped to the four corners of the world. Moriarty's going to have a lot of fun with that." Erickson grinned a wicked, sour grin. Sherlock matched it sarcastically.

"I think not. I've already stopped your shipments. Whatever's already been shipped is being confiscated. Game's up, Erickson. Now if you'll kindly come with us, perhaps you'll get a nice private prison cell where you won't be wearing your makeup for some big burly man with no female connections." Sherlock stated. John raised his eyesbrows, wondering where exactly that had come from, but noting it would have probably persuaded him under similar circumstances.

"I think not, detective." Erickson had slipped his hands inside his lab coat before Sherlock or John could react and had activated some sort of switch. Promptly the guards and the two men were locked inside the small lab room. Erickson donned a gas mask as a cloudy mist began to rain down upon all inside the room. The woman screamed, the man gasped, the military personnel tried desperately to escape the room and reactivate the card swiper mechanism.

Sherlock and John simply covered their mouths and noses with his scarf and John's jacket until the rain of whatever chemical had ceased. They stood for a moment before the military personnel began to charge the two men. Sherlock and John drew their guns and tried to threaten the men to stay back, to no avail. Erickson's homicidal chemical was beginning to work its magic.

Sherlock deflected the man scientist with a shot to the kneecap which downed him. The woman didn't seem affected yet and therefore was momentarily forgotten about. John's gun got a decent shot off at one of the officers before the other proceeded to bang his hand against the counter and knock his firearm loose. The soldier was upon him, wrestling him to the ground. John's neck and shoulder sang out in pain as the soldier grabbed hold of him. *Oh gods, I'm really going to do this." John sighed to himself before kissing the soldier squarely on the lips. The man froze, before the hazy look of lust overtook him and he went in for a kiss as well. John was able to knock him unconscious and climb up off the floor, ashamed of having to kiss a man to get him to not slaughter him upon the floor.

Another soldier had taken to grabbing John's gun and was aiming it. John flung out his bottle, realizing that it would be fairly useless at this point but using it nonetheless. He sprayed the man in the face and was able to wrestle the gun away from him. The man was stunned as he hit the ground, but promptly stood and began to attack a soldier that was nearby. Interesting. Erickson's current chemical causes them to attack the two of us, while his older chemical from the pub causes them to attack anyone within range. Sherlock was impressed. Erickson was indeed an accomplished chemical engineer.

Sherlock fought off the advances of the woman, who seemed to have caught the murder bug later than the others. She had picked up her microscope and was trying to sneak up on Sherlock with it, before he'd turned and planted a kiss on her to make her stop. It worked like a charm and she advanced upon him with renewed lust instead of hatred. He choked her out until she passed out upon the ground. The rest of the group attempted to overwhelm the two of them, and so Sherlock sprayed them with his suicide spray. The men became too caught up in trying to off themselves, that Sherlock and John made short work of knocking them unconscious.

"Nicely done, John." Sherlock smiled as the two searched for Erickson.

"There! How did he-" John pointed at Erickson in his gas mask on the opposite side of the deconamination station.

"Must have let himself out while we were fighting them off." Sherlock started to the key card swiping mechanism and punched in a random queue of numbers. The door slid open much to John's surprise and the two of them headed inside. The door shut and locked behind them, the door in front refusing to open. Erickson stood on the opposite side laughing, removing his gas mask. "Sod it all." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Nice work, you seem to have come at least slightly prepared." Erickson guffawed. John proceeded to beat against the door, trying to jar it open. "Now it seems I've got two fresh guinea pigs ready for a new experiment. First, we need to establish a control though. Enjoy boys. Hope you've got the stamina of two young lusty men that you seem to have. Moriarty is keen to receive some video of this as well. Hope you don't mind." Erickson laughed loudly and pressed another button. The cloudy white mist began to blow about them once more.

Sherlock and John panicked but found themselves unable to allow the chemical makeup to enter their lungs. Sherlock stopped struggling against the door and simply looked at John. "Whatever happens, John. Know that I truly do care for you and love you and whatever is done is not with known malice."

"Agreed and the same, Sherlock." John stood to face him and sighed. They were going to have to fight their way through whatever it was that was about to come down upon them. John began to feel hazy, the room was spinning and he felt completely and utterly drunk. He looked towards Sherlock, and the devilish stir within the deepest and darkest part of him awakened with a vengeance.

Sherlock looked after John with lust abounding within his eyes. John looked delicious, and the hardening of his cock within his trousers was a good indication of what they had been subjected to. Of all the chemicals to be subjected to for a control, Erickson chose this one? Sodding bastard... The chemical makeup of this batch would surely be stronger than anything Erickson would have put into a makeup case.

With lines of morality and willpower blurring and fading, John and Sherlock met body to body within the decontamination room. Sherlock slid a hand about the back of John's neck, which was still aching and burning with its previous exertion. John wrapped an arm about Sherlock's lean hips and pulled him in close. "Fuck, John..." Sherlock moaned due to the simple touch of John's hands upon his body. This is going to be bloody intense... was the last coherent thought that raced through Sherlock's foggy mind before the control experiment commenced..


	54. Chapter 54

John was amazingly aggressive as he explored Sherlock's mouth with his tongue, sucking here and there on his bottom lip, biting on occasion and sending wave after wave of tingling erotica throughout Sherlock's body. He was lost in a fog of wanton lust and there was no stopping it. The moment John and Sherlock's lips had connected in a heated kiss the world was lost.

Sherlock groggily realized that John was already sliding his strong hand within the undone button of Sherlock's trousers and taking hold of his already throbbing erection. Sherlock feared if he gripped him any firmer he might cause some pain, but at the moment every touch, caress, bite, lick, kiss was a welcome pleasure. Sherlock leaned into the kiss, hands upon the small of John's back pulling him in closer until their bodies met at every point. Sherlock's mind was a tangled hot mess of sensation and want. There was no real coherent thought within either of the men's minds at this point.

John pulled his weight into it, grabbing hold of Sherlock by his undone belt and pulling him down underneath him on the cold laboratory floor. Neither man cared, nor felt the stinging cold of the sterile floor as they lay upon it, feverishly loosing clothing and meeting each other mouth to mouth between the occasional stripping of a shirt or pants. John was working him over slowly and it was driving Sherlock mad with sensation as he did so. Sherlock reached down between their now sweaty bodies and took hold of John with one hand, pulling him closer with a hand firmly on John's ass with the other. John groaned out something incoherent that lit up Sherlock's insides like nothing else. A moan of desire that only flamed the fires that burned deep within them both.

Sherlock found the strength and the sudden urge to roll John over onto his back as they pleasured each other. John reached down to take control of Sherlock once more, as his mind told him to dominate the leaner, taller man. Sherlock was too quick for him though, as he gracefully slid down between John's muscular thighs and took him completely into his mouth. John bit his bottom lip in a weak attempt to stifle a cry at the warm, wet inside of Sherlock's boastful and egotistical mouth. Sherlock knew nothing but the pleasure of feeling John's cock pulse inside his mouth as he sucked him off. Sherlock pulled him deep inside his throat, hands on John's hips digging into his fevered skin, until John hit the back of it and Sherlock swallowed around him. "Fuck sake!" John gasped at the feeling. John could barely contain himself as he laced his fingers within Sherlock's curly locks and took control once more as Sherlock continued his work.

John allowed this for so long, feeling his release building up like a lava flow within him. He didn't want to come this way, he needed Sherlock in the worst way. And NOW damn it. He pulled on Sherlock's hair, causing the man to release his erection and slide back up to meet John's lips once more. John traced Sherlock's lips with his fingers, softly, as though for a moment the real love between the two broke through the lusty, hazy drug that filled their minds. Sherlock took John's fingers into his mouth and sucked, reiterating what it had been like not seconds ago while Sherlock had been lower, and John's cock twitched at the thought. He pulled Sherlock back into a kiss and reached down with newly moistened fingers to explore Sherlock's opening. The consulting detective moaned in agreement through John's mouth as his fingers found and teased and entered without another thought.

The feeling of John brushing Sherlock's prostate in just the right way made the detective writhe against him, wanting so badly for more touch, more feeling, more fleeting touches against the most sensitive part of him. John rolled him over, more than happy to comply. "Fuck me, already, John." Sherlock moaned as John continued with skill and ease to prepare him as Sherlock stroked him quickly and firmly. John withdrew his fingers and in one swift motion was within the tight heat that was his lover. Sherlock cried out once more and gripped John's cock painfully hard. John for a moment was brought back to reality and he paused, looking down at naked Sherlock as he writhed around on the floor beneath him, begging for movement and release.

As quickly as the flash of coherence had come, it disappeared twice as fast. John thrust into Sherlock with a grunt and Sherlock arched his back to meet him as he did so. John moved within him quickly, roughly, loving the feeling of Sherlock around him as well as the long fingers wrapped about his cock stroking him in rhythm. He put both hands on Sherlock's slender hips and continued to increase his pace, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he fucked him, feeling his sanity slowly slipping away as his orgasm came closer and closer.

Sherlock beat him to it, mostly from the repeated thrusts that hit Sherlock's sensitive spot directly over and over again and he came hard upon his stomach as well as John's. John could feel Sherlock tighten and spasm around him and John yelled out a string of satisfied curses as he came within him. John stayed in this position as long as his legs would allow him before he rolled over onto his back beside Sherlock.

"Holy- Fuck-" John groaned. His entire body felt overly sensitive after he came and he finally noted the chilled iciness of the floor they lay upon. "Sherlock..." John looked up long enough to note the fog that was currently coming down from wherever once more. "Shit." John coughed and sputtered as he breathed in whatever chemical Erickson had released upon this time. John rolled his head to look at Sherlock. The detective lay naked and passed out next to him on the floor. John's eyelids fluttered before they closed and John fell into his induced sleep.

"-Love you-" Came the faintest of voices above John. His eyelids fluttered open and he realized that Sherlock was above him, hanging over him. Rather, Sherlock was on top of him, leaning down and laying soft warm kisses about the length of John's neck and jawline. "It took so long for us to realize-" Sherlock's mouth was moving and John could catch a word or phrase here or there. He felt so drugged, so out of it and he could not explain for the life of him as to why. He looked about, finding himself back within the guestroom of the Cross Keys Inn. It was twilight, and the sun shown purple and orange against the far wall of their suite. He looked back up, gazing into the handsome face of Sherlock Holmes, who straddled him at this moment in glorious nakedness and glistening with wetness. What the- Oh. John noted he was laying upon their bed in nothing more than a towel and he was slightly chilled. His hair was wet. Must have just had a shower, that would explain it.

"You've practically worn yourself thin today fussing over me." Sherlock's voice was a bit stronger, although still somewhat fuzzy. "I deduce that by the time I'm through with you, Dr. Watson, you'll be pleasantly overworked and ready for a good long sleep." Sherlock gave him that loving half grin as he ran his hands up and over John's chest. Mmmmmm... John's mind was losing coherency again at the mere touch of his lover. He felt himself raring for whatever it was that Sherlock had in mind and Sherlock noticed, as he raised his eyebrows in response. "Perhaps you're agreeable to this idea." Sherlock glanced down and pulled the white, damp towel free and tossed it aside. "Ah, yes. Here we are."

John tried to raise up, to be able to look down and take in the rest of the view, but for some reason his head felt heavy and so he abandoned the idea. He sucked in a breath as a warm hand slid up his inner thigh and wrapped about his evergrowing hardness. He always knows exactly how to touch me. Bugger. John smiled to himself and cherished the feeling of skin on skin as Sherlock leaned closer, covering him in soft, warm kisses about his chest and neck as he touched him. John sighed. What a horrid dream I was having. I certainly hope that our confrontation with Erickson doesn't go that way. Although the drug induced romp wasn't disagreeable...Could that be included in the category of kinky fuckery? John moaned Sherlock's name as Sherlock continued to stroke him...

The bright light was enough to stun the army doctor into waking. He immediately tried to sit up as a knee jerk reaction and found that he was hopelessly strapped to a gurney underneath a bright operating light. He squinted at the brightness, unable to see anything outside the halo of flourescence it created. "Sherlock?!" He cried out, panicked and a bit frightened.

"I'm here, John." Sherlock sounded disgruntled. John glanced to his right, squinted harder, and was able to make out Sherlock strapped upon a gurney in a similar situation. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm- I'm fine. Are you?" John took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He didn't like the feeling of not being in control and this was making him feel damn near claustrophobic.

"Peachy." Sherlock answered. John rolled his eyes, noting he should have expected sarcasm. Sherlock sounded incredibly calm, which made him feel a bit better about the situation, but not much.

"How are we feeling, lovebirds?" Erickson's voice filtered in from below them. Approaching footsteps could be heard. "Quite an impressive show, I must assure you. Moriarty will most definitely enjoy that little bit of hardcore. Exactly what he requested." Erickson laughed.

"I suppose we're still playing guinea pig to your mad scientist then? The experimental drug induced fuck we were just made to endure was not enough proof of your chemical manufacturing genius?" Sherlock spouted. Gods, Sherlock... John sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, no. He wanted a bit of a show, he got one. Now I get to deliver you to him. After a few more experiments of course. No worries. You'll come out in mostly one piece and most definitely alive. Your friend here, I can't vouch as much. It seems you're worth a bit more to the bossman than a discharged army doctor." Erickson came into view between the two gurneys. John fought a bit at his restraints, to no avail. He knew he wouldn't have been able to escape, but hell. It was worth a try.

"Perhaps we'll give the love potion another go before we get to the real fun. I quite enjoyed watching that." Erickson smiled, and John felt sick to his stomach. It was one thing to have Sherlock admire him like a piece of meat from time to time, but this creepy, deranged man who had him strapped down naked to a gurney was enough to make him cringe. He hoped Sherlock had a plan. "I've got many variations to each of my chemicals. But for now, I've got to draw up a few formulas. Make yourself comfortable, just relax and hang out for a bit." Erickson laughed once more, and touched John lightly on his abdomen before he exited. John cringed, he felt dirty and repulsed. He looked back over to Sherlock. Sherlock's face was a display of anger and loathing. I haven't glimpsed that emotional display often. John thought to himself.

"What?" John asked.

"He touched you."

"Yes, I know."

"No one touches you in such a way."

Ah, so Sherlock's protective of me as well. Nice to know. John couldn't help but feel his heart do a little flutter at the thought. Damn it, John. You're tied to a gurney in a creepy man's lab and he's just videoed you having sex with the world's only consulting detective for possible blackmail. Here you are thinking of how sweet it is that he's protective of you? John shook his head and groaned in protest of his own thoughts.

"Problem?"

"No, no. How are we going to get out of this?"

"I've got eight ideas so far." Sherlock glanced about the room and down at his restraints. "Okay...three." Sherlock continued to assess the situation. John laid his head back down, giving up for the time being. "Alright, I think I've got it." Sherlock piped up. John glanced at him again. "Here's what we're going to do. And after we bring in Erickson, I'll personally give him something to think about for touching the one thing I hold dearest." Sherlock's face flashed angry once more as he collapsed deep into thought and explanation of how to escape their current predicament.


	55. Chapter 55

Sherlock awoke, squinting into the blaring glare of the surgical light that lit up his little area of Erickson's lab. He struggled a bit, noting that he was still strapped to the gurney and disturbingly nude. He sighed and relaxed, knowing it was no use to struggle. He wondered how long the two of them had been in this predicament, as he was starting to lose count of the hours and minutes. John must be sleeping. He turned his head and glanced in John's direction and felt his heart leap up into his throat.

John's gurney was gone. There was nothing there next to him. He was alone in the room. "John?!" He called out. He waited for an answer, hoping John may have just been moved out of view. No answer. Gods, what is Erickson doing to him? Sherlock was panicked. He struggled against his restraints, this time with renewed gusto. He had to find John and get them out of this predicament.

Sherlock had earlier come up with a brilliant plan. John had agreed that it was sufficient and would probably work. But then another chemical mist had rained down upon them and then Sherlock had awakened now to find his partner missing. Perhaps we have been outsmarted this time. Sherlock continued to struggle.

"Feeling refreshed?" Erickson's creepy, disattached voice floated up from somewhere at Sherlock's feet. He strained his neck to get a look and frowned as Erickson stepped into view at his side. "I suppose you are. You slept for a good while."

"What have you done with him?" Sherlock practically growled at his captor. Erickson grinned ear to ear like a chesire cat and chuckled to himself.

"He's been my companion for a good while now. He awoke sooner than you did, by at least two hours. I've found him to be particularly resilient to most of my concoctions but I'm sure to find one that satisfies my tastes before too long." Erickson touched the side of Sherlock's thigh, causing the leaner, restrained man to squirm at the clamminess of his fingers.

"You hurt him I swear-" Sherlock spit through gritted teeth. Erickson circled his gurney, wringing his hands and laughing the whole way around. It was most unnerving.

"I assure you, your army doctor is still alive and virtually unharmed. I'll be delivering him and you to Moriarty shortly. I've notified them already." Erickson leaned forwards, hands on each side of Sherlock's head, coming in far too close for comfort. "I believe a session with you is due." Erickson's breath was sickeningly sweet. Diabetic, he's not too far from ketoacidosis by the smell of it. Sherlock cringed as best a shackled naked man on a gurney could.

A crack on bone could suddenly be heard. Erickson's eyes rolled back into his head so only the white's showed. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise as the chemical engineer's knees buckled and he collapse, cracking his forehead on Sherlock's gurney as he went down. Sherlock glanced up shakily to the figure of the man standing behind Erickson's previous position. John Watson stood, chest heaving, still completely nude, holding his firearm that he had just used on the back of Erickson's head. He was slightly aroused, although Sherlock attributed this to the pumping of adrenaline along with the fact that Erickson was perhaps experimenting upon him at the time. The thought made Sherlock's stomach turn and renewed the fury within him.

John turned to him, placing the firearm at the foot of the gurney and beginning to work on Sherlock's restraints. Sherlock kept his eyes locked on John's face as he worked. "Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, softly, as if in a dream. John glanced at him but said nothing. He freed one hand and quickly began work on Sherlock's feet as Sherlock freed the other. Sherlock jumped off the gurney as John took hold of the firearm once more. "John?"

"Not now." John sighed. He glanced around the room and pointed to the clothing thrown haphazardly onto a surgical table in the corner. "Grab those. I've already contacted Mycroft and notified him of our location." John kept his gun trained on Erickson's downed body as he searched a nearby cabinet of shelves and managed to located zipties he almost certain knew would be present there. John proceeded to ziptie Erickson's hands and delivered a swift kick to the unconscious man's ribs as well.

Sherlock handed him his clothing and the two men dressed quickly, not wanting to be caught in an awkward predicament that could still be easily explained. Sherlock continued to try and get through to an obviously shell shocked John. He took hold of John's shoulders. "What have they done to you, John? Tell me." Sherlock spoke to him, watching the weary look within John's own brown eyes.

"They've done a few things, Sherlock, but I'm no worse for wear..." John trailed off, as though he was afraid he may lose himself if he continued. "But I'm unharmed. And we are going to get out of this alive and without begin delivered to Moriarty's hands." John took a deep breath to steady himself.

Sherlock couldn't help himself. He gathered John into his arms and held him close and tight. John allowed it. he buried his face within Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of him and the familiar warmth that Sherlock radiated.

They separated as they heard the commotion of Mycroft's men coming through the hallway leading into the interrogation room. They were lead out quickly, along with Erickson, being taken into custody. Mycroft was waiting outside. Sherlock and John tottered up to him, suddenly exhausted. "So good to see you are unharmed, dear brother." Mycroft began, and glanced at John. "You as well, Dr. Watson. Thank you for contacting me. Very useful, that army knowledge." Mycroft gave him that sheepish and snide grin, but John knew it was not meant sarcastically. That was just Mycroft's way.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'd very much like to get back to our safehouse if you don't mind. I do believe we've had a bit of a shock, but at least John was able to recover Erickson for interrogation." Sherlock eyed Erickson's figure with hatred. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his younger brother.

"Quite right. We'll handle that in a better esteem than our last suspect." Mycroft nodded at Sherlock and herded the two men into an awaiting black car. The three men rode back in silence, nothing much to say between them.

John sat in the bedroom attempting to lose himself in his notes for a future blog reference to their adventures in hiding. The evening had ended up being a tiring one. He was thoroughly checked over by Mycroft's team of medical professionals and declared fit, perhaps not mentally but he'd faked his way through that one pretty well. The things that had been done, he couldn't remember half of them, and the one's he could disturbed him. He pushed the thoughts from his mind.

He sighed and put the notes away when Sherlock re-entered the bedroom and closed the door behind. "Molly and Lestrade have returned." Sherlock noted.

"Good, was worried for them. I hadn't known if Erickson would attempt to harm them as well." John did indeed feel relieved.

"Thankfully their cover was not compromised." Sherlock gulped. I must discuss these confusing feelings with him...but not tonight. Sherlock crawled onto the bed and onto John as well. John glanced at him with tired, somewhat confused eyes.

"Sherlock, I-" John felt his heart skip a few beats as Sherlock came to rest mere inches away from his own face and between his legs.

"I understand you've had a terrible experience, John." Sherlock sounded completely sincere and his expression was soft and worried. John's blood warmed. He truly is protective of me. "But rest assured as soon as Mycroft allows me to interrogate Erickson I will deliver swift justice, rest assured."

"I know, Sherlock." John couldn't help but smile sweetly at Sherlock. Not only was he Sherlock's 'piece of meat', but he was also the object of Sherlock's undivided attention and affection.

"Until then..." Sherlock breathed and the fine hairs on John's skin bristled at the sound and he heat of Sherlock's breath upon it as he spoke. "Perhaps I can offer you some comfort?"

"Sherlock-"

"John, when I had discovered you were not within the room I was absolutely terrified. This doesn't happen often. You know this. To have you back and safe has me reeling with emotion and I must express it if you would allow me to." Sherlock was nuzzling John's cheek, his linguistically angelical lips nearing John's own quivering ones at an agonizingly slow pace. Sherlock and his way with words. Christ.

John had no reply. He met Sherlock's lips and melted into him, feeling the anxiety slowly draining from his blood as it heated by the touch of Sherlock's skin on his. Sherlock was gentle, leaning into the kiss and exploring John's mouth thoroughly. John could feel the growing length of him pressing on his inner thigh as they poured themselves into each other mouth to mouth. John reached up and took hold of Sherlock's pajama pants, pulling them down past his groin and the curve of his ass, allowing him to spring free.

John took hold of Sherlock's cock enthusiastically and Sherlock sighed into his mouth at the touch. John's blood was afire now, every whimper and moan he could illicit from Sherlock turning it up a degree. Sherlock ran his hand up under John's shirt, feeling his heated skin as he drank him in. His hand decided a better course and ventured down to tug John's own pants down just low enough to make him feel exposed and grasped him firmly as well.

Together the two men stroked and caressed each other as they kissed, until they were both begging for release. "You can have me, John..." Sherlock was nearly breathless with want. John nipped his neck playfully, breathing heavily.

"No, Sherlock. Fill me up. I need you inside me." He gasped and bucked towards his lover. Sherlock seemed to not need anymore permission than that. He found their lube with expert precision and lubed up a hand to prepare the army doctor slowly and teasingly. John groaned at the sensation. It felt so good to have his lover to touch him so intimately. It made the feelings and memories of Erickson and his degrading laboratory experiments dissipate. "I'm- I'm ready." John arched his hips up to allow Sherlock to position himself and slide slowly into him. "Fuck sake, Sherlock..." He sighed and wrapped his arms about Sherlock as he did so.

Sherlock wasted no time moving within the tight heat that was his Dr. Watson. He tried to restrict himself to gentle lovemaking, considering that John had most likely been through something rather traumatic and the allowance of Sherlock to enter him in such a way was welcoming. He wanted John to feel what he felt so deeply for him in the most physical way.

John was becoming rather enthusiastic, biting down on Sherlock's shoulder as he spasmed around Sherlock in the peak of his orgasm. Sherlock cried out, not from the mingling of pain with pleasure, but from his own cloudy haze of lust as he came deep inside his partner. The two rested, attempting to catch their runaway breaths. Sherlock slid out slowly before John could gather his thoughts and gathered him into his arms as they lay together, a tangle of half stripped clothing and sweat. "Thank you." John breathed raggedly. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock only tightened his grip upon his lover as he heard the vibration of a faintly ringing phone in the nearby bedside table. It can't be. He leaned over, opening the drawer and pulling out Moriarty's black phone which was currently ringing.

John glanced up at Sherlock. "You've got to answer it. Remember the last time you ignored it." John frowned. Damn. A good moment ruined by Moriarty once more. Sherlock frowned along with him as he answered.

"Well done, Sherly." Moriarty's weasely voice came over the device and Sherlock grimaced at its sound. "I must say, good show all around!"

"What do you want, Moriarty?" Sherlock was disgruntled and not in any mood to play games with his dangerous adversary. John held tightly to him and he never loosened his own grip upon him.

"I want to say that I've got a rather important bargaining piece currently playing on my TV." Sherlock could note the smile in the man's voice and it angered him.

"What are you planning to bargain for?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty burst into a fresh fit of laughter. Sherlock only tightened his affectionate grip upon John as it filtered through the phone and into the still night air.


	56. Chapter 56

Sherlock listened intently to the madman on the opposite end of the phone. John lay next to him, grim but quiet as Moriarty spoke. "I'm bargaining for John." Sherlock's expression changed dramatically at the mere mention.

"Why would you want him?" Sherlock asked angrily, quickly losing his cool. John crinkled his brow at the quick change in demeanor and sat up, looking Sherlock squarely in the face. Sherlock avoided his gaze.

"Because it's the one thing you hold most dear. I could easily say I'd want you to give yourself up, Sherlock. But where lies the fun in that?" Moriarty was sneering, Sherlock could tell.

"If I were not refuse..." Sherlock asked. Silence for a moment on the other end of the line.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to ruin the both of you and then take John by force. Which would make it far worse on John than it would be if you just complied." Moriarty growled. Sherlock's hand began to shake, mainly from anger, but somewhat from anxiety of the thought of John being taken away from him once more. It was becoming harder and harder to hold onto his Dr. Watson.

"You couldn't ruin me the last time you tried, although I will give you that you came very close." Sherlock reminisced about Moriarty's so-called "final problem" which had put them all on this course to begin with.

"Oh, but I think I could, Sherlock. You see, this tape is very VERY convincing and if the right people were to get ahold of it..." Moriarty started. Sherlock cut him off.

"So you intend to blackmail me if I don't hand over Dr. Watson." Sherlock spouted. John's eyebrows shot up in surprise and his face drain of all color. Sherlock glanced at him wistfully as he continued the runaround conversation.

"Precisely." Moriarty was smiling full on now. Funny how the slightest facial movements can tell so much even when the eyes cannot see. Sherlock's mind was wondering. He focused back on the task at hand.

"No. You'll have to find another way to steal him away, Moriarty. You're losing your touch if you think simple blackmail scares me." Sherlock hung up the phone as soon as he had spoken, threw it into the bedside drawer, and slammed it shut.

"He wants me..." John stated, swallowing very visibly. Sherlock nodded, turning over towards him and sliding his arm about his waist in a protective and loving gesture. "Or else he's going to use the tape, isn't he?" Sherlock sighed.

"I intend to handle this problem, but it will require that we bring our relationship into the light. It's the only way." Sherlock stated. He personally had no problem being completely open about their relationship, but he feared it might damage John or his reputation, and he wanted nothing to do with hurting John in any way.

"Sherlock," John started and grimaced, rubbing his neck as if it ached. He stopped moments later and Sherlock dismissed the thought. Surely the healing process is still going on, it's going to be painful and there's no telling whats been done to him in Erickson's lab. He reached up and rubbed the side of John's neck sweetly and John smiled. "If it involves coming clean- It's okay. It's going to happen sooner or later and frankly I'm tired of hiding it. So do whatever it is that needs to be done." John sighed, his eyes sad. "Just don't allow me to be taken, and don't give me away-"

"Gods, you think I'd just hand you over to some insane criminal mastermind?" Sherlock seemed shocked that John would even consider the idea. "Never." He pulled John into a feverish kiss, as if to relay the love he felt inside for the shorter, stouter man. Their hands began to wander once more. Sherlock released John's mouth and kissed his way softly down John's neck, his chest, his abdomen and finally pulling the sheet aside to reveal what lay beneath...he paused. He often admired John's body as he was making these lustful trips with his hands and mouth but the sight of the large bruises that adorned John's inner thighs caused him to stop. "John."

John was too busy enjoying the sensation of Sherlock's mouth upon his sensitive skin that it took a moment for Sherlock to get his attention. He glanced down. "What?"

Sherlock was examining him now, all lustful intent gone from his mind as he explored the rest of John's pale skin for markings. In the light he could now make out dark purple, blue, and reddish bruises along his neck where he'd had his surgery and the inside of John's groin. He rolled John over, with little protest, to examine his backside and found more bruising along John's spine and the curve of his buttocks. Sherlock's face flush with anger as John rolled back over. "Please, John. Explain to me what Erickson did to you."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sherlock!" John cried out and pulled the sheet over his lower half with blushing cheeks. He had hoped Sherlock would drop the subject and he surely didn't want to remember what had been done to him before he was able to free himself and rescue Sherlock from the same treatment.

"I know you don't, I know it's painful to think about, but I can see the marks upon you, John. I'm livid, and I will find out what happened." Sherlock was trying to contain his anger so as to be able to get an answer out of John Watson, but his blood was already boiling.

"It's embarrassing..." John sighed and shook his head, frowning. He tried to divert his eyes to somewhere else in the room. Sherlock laid down next to him, running a hand through his sandy hair and down his back, and pulling him in close. The look on his face remained solemn and stoic.

"John, please." Sherlock spoke softly to him, stroking his body lovingly and protectively. John met his gaze and softened a bit as well.

"Alright, fine. But only one time through. I'm not repeating it ever again after tonight." John began to tremble as he began to speak. "Erickson took me in for his own personal play toy. The first few rounds of chemicals were hard to fight, henceforth the bruising as I was able to fight him off a time or two. He forced himself upon me as he restrained me, saying he 'liked the way I squirmed and fought', which made me want to stop but there was no way I was going to just allow him to-" John caught his breath, trying to rush through the explanation. "Lastly he used some chemical that paralyzed me. I was unable to move, although completely aware and able to breath on my own, but unable to retaliate his advances. He also used the chemical like what he used on us in the decontamination room that makes you- And then he had his way again." John was full on shaking now. Sherlock merely held him closer and kept his eyes trained on him. "I'd been fighting the restraints since the first round of chemicals and loosened them enough that when he left to go back and find you I was able to slip free and find my firearm which he had been too lazy to properly lock up." John finished with a cold sweat breaking upon his forehead. Sherlock pulled him in close and John hugged him tight, feeling more protected the closer he was to Sherlock's embrace.

"Gods, why..." Sherlock started. "Why did you allow me to enter you after you'd gone through all of that? You've been traumatized, Dr. Watson and I took advantage of you without realizing-" Sherlock stuttered.

"Because it's different with you. You are loving and gentle and I want you in that way. It was a way of feeling normal again to have you be the one inside of me and loving me." John answered, muffled within the crook of Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock's temper was rising.

"I'll handle this, John." Sherlock kissed his head and let him go, practically leaping from the bed to find his clothing and his dressing gown.

"Sherlock, don't get yourself in trouble with your brother for my sake. It's over now." John pleaded as he grasped Sherlock's intent. Sherlock ignored that, but came round his side of the bed and pulled him once more into a loving kiss.

"You are mine, no one else's. Absolutely no one treats you in such a way and lives long." Sherlock answered with a nearly straight face before exiting the room. John looked after him as he left, continuing to tremble and unable to calm it.

Mycroft surely could sense the tension that ran through the secret basement hideaway of their current safehouse, as he emerged, fully dressed in suit and vest with umbrella in tow, as Sherlock did from his bedroom. "Where do you think you're headed to?" Mycroft asked him sulkily.

"I will be speaking with Erickson, promptly." Sherlock growled through gritted teeth. He started towards the room that was being used to question Erickson but Mycroft stopped him in his tracks.

"You will NOT be repeating your earlier actions with another suspect, Sherlock. It's one thing to cover it up once, twice people start to question." Mycroft spat at him.

"You do not understand, nor will you ever understand." Sherlock pierced Mycroft through with his fierce gaze, plowing through the umbrella that held him in place and searching for the interrogation room. Mycroft's features changed to those of concern.

"What is it?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock refused to answer. Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "What's he done to John?"

The mere mention of John stopped Sherlock long enough to get a frazzled look from the consulting detective. "What?"

"You wouldn't be this hellbent on finding the interrogation room if something hadn't happened to John. I know, if you don't recall. What's happened?" Mycroft seemed truly concerned and Sherlock was baffled by this display.

"He's had his way with him, as I intend to pay him back in full." Sherlock was almost to the point of seeing red and fearing he may do anything in his power to get to Erickson, even if he had to go through the bloody wall.

"I see." Mycroft frowned as understanding came over him. "This way." Mycroft led Sherlock to the back room that disguised itself as a pantry and glanced inside. Erickson sat chained to the table that sat in front of him, looking bored and a bit disgusted as they gazed at him through the window. "Two minutes, do NOT kill him, as I need him for information and for trial. The guards haven't seen him yet so no one will be the wiser." Mycroft caught Sherlock by the dressing gown collar, causing the man intent on hurting the suspect in the small interrogation room to turn his eyes to his. "I mean it, Sherlock. Do not kill him. I'm only allowing this because I consider John a good man and friend, and because he did nothing to deserve what's been done to him." Sherlock nodded. Mycroft unlocked the door.

Sherlock walked into the dining room of the downstairs safehouse shaking his hand, as it hurt terribly after the multiple strikes he had laid into Erickson. His knuckles were bruised and he was pretty sure he'd gotten a boxer's fracture as well, as the knuckle of his pinkie finger was sticking out at a strange angle. No matter, justice is somewhat served. Sherlock stepped aside as Mycroft called for the medical personnel to come and treat the suspect, swearing them to secrecy by his Majesty's service to speak nothing of what they saw within. Sherlock had thanked his brother for this one kindness. He would arrange after trial that Erickson got the full treatment that Sherlock had only given him a small taste of.

Lestrade exited the room he shared with Molly, turning and taking in the heaving, red faced consulting detective who was favoring his hand gingerly. He could only guess what might have just gone on. "Rough night?" He asked.

"On the contrary." Sherlock sighed and looked for the tape in the medical kit he'd found sitting on the table so as to wrap up his injured hand. "Well, there have definitely been worse recently."

Lestrade chuckled. "I'll second that." He took a deep breath. Sherlock was eyeing him and his expression had changed from one of slight amusement and satisfaction to one of nervousness, which was incredibly strange to the Detective Inspector. He'd never seen such a look on the genius's face. "Everything alright, mate?"

"No, actually it isn't. I've something to discuss with you." Sherlock frowned. Lestrade shrugged. "Outside perhaps?"

"You think that's safe?"

"At the moment, yes. I'd much rather not have this discussion around those not within my circle." Sherlock motioned to the stairs. Lestrade shrugged and followed him up. Within the house that lay above ground they two stepped into the kitchen. Lestrade dug around in the bar and located a rather nice bottle of bourbon. He offered the bottle to Sherlock who nodded, and then set to rummaging around and finding two tumblers.

"So, what's this you've got to tell me?" Lestrade asked as he placed the tumbler in front of Sherlock who still favored his hand.

"Moriarty has got evidence against John and I he intends to blackmail us with. He stated he is going to ruin us before he tries to kidnap John to get at me." Sherlock started. Lestrade took a sip of his bourbon and continued to listen. "So I must confess something to you so that you aren't shocked as this information is surely to come out."

"Well, alright then. Out with it." Lestrade watched Sherlock as he hesitated to answer. "It can't be that bad. You're Sherlock Holmes, when people realize that you aren't dead you'll be a legend."

"Perhaps, although doubtful. At least knowing this you may be able to help us divert what may follow as well as help to protect John." Sherlock glanced away at the mention of John's name. Lestrade narrowed his eyes.

"Let's here it." Lestrade stated and took another drink.

"In Dartmoor we weren't playing around with our cover." Sherlock found it more difficult to tell Lestrade than he originally had thought. Lestrade only looked on at him. "John and I are- well we're- together." Sherlock swallowed hard after choking out this sentence.

Lestrade look at him for a moment, his face not changing. It was almost as if he was contemplating whether Sherlock was attempting to fool him or if he was being completely serious. "Really."

"Yes."

"You two...are a couple."

"Quite right."

"Okay." Lestrade took another drink. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the detective inspector this time.

"Okay? That's it?" Sherlock asked.

"Sure, okay. So what?" Lestrade answered.

"You're seriously not going to josh me about this. Or make a wisecrack, or be disgusted..." Sherlock seemed in awe of Lestrade's ability to only answer with the one word.

"No, why would I?" Lestrade was serious. He had his suspicions, but whatever sexual preference his friends were it didn't matter to him.

"I don't know...I figured-"

"Look, Sherlock. You've been thought of as a virgin and teased as one at Scotland Yard. Your own brother has made comments towards you stating that you weren't interested in women. Then John comes along and you've got this stellar bromance going on...it was the logical next step in thinking. And it doesn't bother me. Nor should it bother anyone else." Lestrade explained. Sherlock was silent, considering what had been said. "So, Moriarty is going to try and blackmail you with your relationship?"

"He has a tape."

"A tape of what? You two kissing or holding hands or skipping about Dartmoor?" Lestrade chuckled at the thought as he finished his drink.

"A sex tape." Sherlock sighed. Lestrade's eyes lit up at the mention of it. "We were in Baskerville and he drugged us and taped it for Moriarty." Sherlock quickly explained, blushing as Lestrade was making him feel self conscious.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock." Lestrade commented but continued to smile. "You ol' dog you. Well, we'll just have to be proactive. You're going to have to come out that you're alive and then you're going to have to come out of the closet with John. That way if its released it won't be as shocking as Moriarty would like it to be." Lestrade thought out loud.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock rose out of the chair and downed his own bourbon, feeling better than he had when they'd gone up the stairs. The nervousness and anxiety were gone. Lestrade smiled and clapped Sherlock on the back.

"I can take care of my part. You sure John is okay with being revealed like this?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, I've already spoken with him." Sherlock became his usual serious self and bowed a bit to Lestrade as a thank you before heading quickly back down the stairs. Lestrade followed after, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.


	57. Chapter 57

John Watson peered out out from behind the press curtain and swallowed nervously as he noted all of the people gathered about the stage and below the podium. Lestrade was slightly off stage speaking with a rather calm looking Donovan and Anderson. John didn't think either of them suspected what was just about to happen. He smirked a bit to himself thinking of the reaction this would draw out of the two of them. Then his thoughts crept back to those of anxiety and worry. How is everyone going to take this? Not only are they about to find out that Sherlock didn't kill himself...but also that he's in a relationship with his flatmate. Things are about to really change around here. John glanced back behind him at Sherlock who was straightening his jacket upon his slender shoulders and pulling at his cuffs. His version of being anxious? John couldn't tell for sure. "Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?" he asked the consulting detective.

"Of course I am. This is the only way to be one step ahead of Moriarty. And it will be better for both of us. I know you need this, John. We both do. The question is, are you okay with going through with this?" Sherlock came up to John and took him gently by the shoulders, looking at him straight in the eye. John took his time.

"Hell yes." John answered and Sherlock laid a chaste kiss upon his heated lips as he answered. This needs to be done. John sighed and turned to peek out the curtain once more. Lestrade was approaching the podium. John gulped.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've an official announcement to make on the case of Amuel Erickson, a former employee of the government facility at Baskerville and his involvement in the Dartmoor Massacre." Lestrade began, as serious as he seemed to get when involved in these press junkets. Donovan and Anderson stood off to the side, hands cross in front of them, unaware of what was about to happen. They didn't seem to notice Mycroft walking up to stand beside them as well. John figured Mycroft was available merely for protection with his Queen's guard somewhere in hiding. At least that's what John hoped, knowing that surely Moriarty was watching, perhaps hoping to get his tape released in there somewhere. John didn't know what he would do if Moriarty released their tape. There was no helping it he supposed. Once Moriarty got a wild hair.. "Erickson was apprehended by the well revered Dr. John Watson in Baskerville while investigating the accusations of chemical warfare being mass produced. This was, in fact, the case, and the chemical laced products have been collected before they could be distributed." The press remained quiet. "I'll ask Dr. Watson to come out now, please." Lestrade turned and offer a hand in John's direction. He took once last look at Sherlock, who gave him that small lovable smirk, and walked out from behind the curtain, army taking over, hands at sides, straight faced. He approached the podium and Lestrade gave him a well deserved pat on the back. The cameras began to flash and John felt timid suddenly under the media's eye. The scrutiny was about to really begin. "Of course, owe our information and investigation largely in part to one, you may know, Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade motioned once more and watched as Sherlock emerged, scarf wrapped expertly about his neck, coat flailing behind him, hands in his pockets, and approaching the podium as if nothing had ever changed.

Donovan and Anderson went pale as guilty ghosts as he made his appearance, much to John's amusement, and Sherlock's too it would seem as he let that half hearted and amused grin escape before the cameras. He joined Lestrade upon the podium and the crowd was understandably silenced. Even the camera flashes ended momentarily. Then the crowd began in an uproar. Questions were shouted left and right. The crowd surged forward slightly, causing security to step forwards and hold them back. Lestrade leaned and whispered something into Sherlock's ear and he nodded. Lestrade patted him on the back this time and stepped back, glancing at John as he did so. John knew. The real news was about to break.

"Yes, I know what you are all thinking. 'Suicide of a Fake Genius.' Well named if not wrong on many levels. Perhaps at once time or another I may let you know the details of that particular encounter but at this time I have rather more important news to share with you." He nodded at John, who took his cue and stepped up to the podium with his partner. He crossed his clammy hands nervously behind his back and glanced out at the sea of faces that stared unbelievingly back up at them. "I'd rather meant to break this to everyone matter-of-factly, but rather I think I have a better way of going about it than that." He took a deep breath. John wondered if it was hard announcing his sexual orientation to the world, he'd figured Sherlock wouldn't care. "Dr. John Watson and I are partners, not only in bringing crime scenes and criminals to justicce along with Scotland Yard, but also in a loving and mutual relationship."

Gasps from the crowd. John glanced back towards Mycroft, Donovan and Anderson. Anderson's jaw was nearly on the floor. Donovan rolled her eyes, as if she had suspected all along. Mycroft only gave John a knowing look with his eyes, but kept his mouth in a thin serious line. John looked back out, stunned as Sherlock put an arm about his shoulders and brought in close to him. "Can you confirm this to be true, Dr. Watson?" A random reporter near the front of the group asked.

"Yes. Mr. Holmes is correct." John answered. Sherlock squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. The crowd sparked up again in confusing blares of questions and camera flashes. John felt a bit of a shocked relief from answering the question. He had confirmed it. There was no need to hide it anymore.

"On that note then, I'd like to ask my partner, Dr. Watson, if he'd join me in making our relationship agreeably mutual by accepting my hand in marriage." Sherlock stated. John's heart nearly fell through the floor as he heard the words emerge from Sherlock's lips. He hadn't known the thought would ever cross his mind, as the entire experience was somewhat baffling to all involved. All sound and stimuli faded out of his mind as he concentrated on the words he'd just heard. He looked up at Sherlock who was gazing down on him with rather nervous but brilliant blue green eyes. The camera flashes were continuing to light up his face. John wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment, but he refrained. There was such thing as a time and place.

"I accept." John answered, barely audible into the microphone. Lestrade and a good portion of the crowd erupted into applause and hoots. The other half, as well as Lestrade's counterparts Donovan and Anderson, merely stood shocked and appauled by what had just happened. Sherlock grinned, and thankfully refrained from kissing John in front of the crowd in celebration.

"Now..." Sherlock began, turning his attention back to the crowd. "We bid you a thank you in joining in our happiness as well as future consulting detective work. Thank you." Sherlock took John by the hand and quickly stepped down from the podium, nearly dragging his new fiance with him as he did so. Lestrade was quick to step up and begin on with more press news relating to the apprehension of Erickson and Scotland Yard. Sherlock led John back behind the curtain and, noting that no one was present, pressed him up against the wall and pressed his mouth to John's, drinking him in as he did so. John felt his knees nearly buckle. He allowed the kiss until he heard the ruffle of the curtain and pushed Sherlock slightly to break the kiss. A caterer of the press junket walked through paying no attention to the couple.

"I had no idea you were planning to propose to me in front of...bloody hell, Sherlock." John sighed and gave Sherlock a knowing look. Sherlock could only smile.

"I figured the more pressure the more likely you'd agree." Sherlock answered.

"I'm not exactly the marrying type."

"That's why you're only doing it once. And to me." Sherlock came in for another kiss and John stove him off.

"Not here, Sherlock. I'm not completely comfortable with the PDA yet." John shook his head.

"PDA?" Sherlock looked confused. It was too adorable.

"Public Displays of Affection? That genius brain in your head and you didn't know the meaning of...ah nevermind. It's not even as important as the solar system so my argument is invalid." John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly. Sherlock leaned in and whispered into John's ear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle.

"We've yet to celebrate our engagement." Sherlock growled. John felt more than just the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Not. Here." John began, knowing full well what Sherlock was intending.

"Fine. But not long after." Sherlock breathed and then left John's side to join Lestrade once more as he walked through the curtain.

"Well done, boys." Lestrade smiled and congratulated the two. John blushed, not being able to help it. "Now, on to our next case."

"What's that?" John asked. Sherlock gave him a look as if he was shocked that John didn't know.

"The second name given to us by Moriarty's weakling of a suspect. Thomas Dickers." Sherlock smiled and clapped John on the back, giving John's ass a squeeze as well, although John wasn't sure that Lestrade or anyone else had noticed.

The package tumbled down into the bin noisely, the man looking about to see if the noise had drawn any attention. The man was angry. How dare Sherlock go public and show the world what it was he wanted to show them? Nevertheless, this would give them something to talk about. He intended on causing a bit of chaos if he could.

He would definitely cause more than his fair share of chaos. Dr. Watson would be expecting quite a bit of grief coming to him and his lover when his plan would come to fruition.


	58. Chapter 58

John joined Sherlock in the cab after many more press photos and questions from the crowd as they gathered for Lestrade's briefing. He slammed the door beside him and glanced over at Sherlock, who was gazing out into the darkness out the opposite window. John reached out and touched his hand upon the leather seat. "Everything okay?" He asked.

Sherlock turned and smiled at him. "Yes." He leaned over, wanting to steal a kiss from John while the cameras were still flashing about them. John pulled away.

"I said no PDA yet, Sherlock." John was serious. He blushed a deep red. It was one thing to come out, but it was still very confusing and he was quickly becoming camera shy. Sherlock surely would understand. "It's nothing to do with you, Sherlock. Don't start to think that for a second."

"I understand. You'll grow into it." Sherlock smiled and leaned back in the seat. "Driver," Sherlock said and the cabbie began to drive. John glanced at Sherlock, quickly catching on that something was up.

"Where are we headed?" John asked, knowing full well Sherlock probably wouldn't tell him.

"Surprise." Sherlock smirked. "No worries, I've arranged security with Mycroft. He understands the importance of an engagement."

"Is this really the time for this?" John asked, wondering when they'd be off on another case. Normally Sherlock would be elbows deep in the next lead by this time already, but it seems that John was the more important priority at the moment. I'm at the top of the list finally. He joked with himself. He rode with Sherlock in silence through London and on out to a fancy hotel that John had only glimpsed from the outside. Men in black suits met their cab and helped them inside and up to the top floor. John entered the room after Sherlock and nearly had to pick his jaw up off of the floor.

The room was the queen's suite, which would normally be reserved for prestigious visitors to London, but Mycroft had managed to request it soley for Sherlock's use. The suite was the size of a good one story mansion, complete with pool, fireplace, many rooms, and the most extravagant of fabrics and furniture. "Sherlock," John started, looking about the place and tiptoeing into the room fearful to mess anything up. "This is too much."

"Nothing is too much for this celebration." Sherlock walked about the main room with hands crossed behind his back. He turned to face John, with that lazy half grin across his face, feeling clever. "I never imagined I'd ever become engaged, much less to a man, or even that man being you."

"Really?" John wasn't running on all cylinders. He jumped when the suited men closed the doors to the suite behind them and locked the door. John imagined there would be men stationed about this room and the hotel as long as the two of them were inside. "I figured you'd find a clever girl to bed up with."

Sherlock chuckled as he came closer to John. "I was asexual, John. Not interested in it whatsoever. Until I met you, my so called 'heterosexual life partner' that Lestrade seemed to think was funny to say. Things just evolved from there I suppose..." Sherlock trailed off as he came close to John and wound his hands about the army doctor's waist, pulling him in. John felt his knees begin to grow weak as Sherlock bent slowly to kiss him softly upon the lips. "Now here I am, engaged to Dr. John Hamish Watson, and fully intendent upon consumating this engagement in many ways within this suite." John had no room to protest, only continued to meet Sherlock's lips as he swept in for deeper kisses.

"What about- the men outside-"

"What about them?"

"They'll hear."

"So?"

"So, that makes me kind of shy to perform." John looked up into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock only smiled knowingly back at him.

"Then try your best to be quiet. They are paid to not notice unless its something coming after us." Sherlock answered. He pulled at John's jumper. John didn't protest, only allowed the leaner, taller man to pull it off of him. Sherlock was quick to pull his own purple button up off as well and bring John's naked chest into meet his in a warm embrace as he continued to kiss him. John was quickly losing his argument.

"Sherlock..." John moaned as Sherlock expertly slipped an eager hand into John's trousers and palmed his growing erection. "Gods...after everything I cannot believe I'm engaged to you...to a man..." John sighed as Sherlock wrapped his warm firm hand about his cock and began to stroke it teasingly. "Fuck, Sherlock."

"Mmmm..." Sherlock nearly laughed as he moaned in agreeance. "Quickly losing footing on being quiet or shy it would seem." Sherlock bit slightly into John's neck as he rubbed his lover to a hard pulsating throb that was causing John to buck into his hand. John didn't care, it felt too damned good and he'd already crossed the threshold of stopping things before they had to be handled. John loosed Sherlock's trousers and allowed the consulting detective's impressive girth to spring free. John began to lower himself, wanting to take Sherlock's cock fully within his mouth but Sherlock stopped him. "No, no, I want to please you first. You are my fiance..." Sherlock moaned, although his cock protested not being able to accept John's offer. It was undeniably tempting.

Sherlock surprised John by taking him into an embrace once more and walking him over to the large wall that seemed to be entirely made of windows. John didn't notice, he was already lost within Sherlock's advances. Sherlock had somehow managed to get ahold of their lube while John was preoccupied and began to circle and tease John open with one hand as he stroked his erection with the other. John was spiraling into a hazy feeling of sensation, torn between the feeling in both areas. He feared he might be finished before Sherlock even had a chance to enter him. John could tell he was becoming more urgent in his actions as his cock pressed against John's thigh. Sherlock was breathing rather raggedly into John's ear as he slid two fingers easily into John and caused him to whimper with want. "I want you, John." John nodded his agreement into Sherlock's dark rambunctious curls and with that cue Sherlock removed his blissfully roaming fingers and lifted John up, pressing his back into the glass. It wasn't uncomfortable, and the coolness of it mingling with the fantastic feeling of Sherlock sliding smoothly up inside of him caused him to cry out with pleasure.

In this way Sherlock made love to John up against the smooth, clear window of the queen's suite, thrusting harder and harder into the tight heat that was John Watson until they came simultaneously. Sherlock lost the strength to hold up his lover at that moment and the two slid to the floor, Sherlock still inside him, John straddling him in his lap. They embraced each other, catching their breaths. John pulled him close and tightly to him. He was in love, he couldn't deny it, and was immensely happy to be Sherlock's one and only. "I'll have you know, John Watson..." Sherlock heaved. "That this is the beginning of one hell of a long celebration. Mycroft's roped off this room all weekend."

John glanced up, only laughed and hugged Sherlock to him once again. Sherlock returned it, never wanting to release his partner. He fully intended to soak up every moment this weekend would have to offer. Neither man would be leaving this room for the next few days. Perhaps Moriarty would even give the happy couple a few moments of peace. It would end up to be the calm before the storm...


	59. Chapter 59

Sherlock's eyelids flittered open sleepily. The curtains remained drawn over the windows, blocking out most of the morning light as it struggled to filter into the bedroom of the massive hotel suite. He breathed in slowly and deepily. The lovemaking that had proceeded their slumber had taken a lot out of him but left him in a loving, warm, fuzzy haze. He switched his attention to what had awoken him. He supposed that his fiance, the good doctor, was becoming more in tune with his feelings on the subject as well. Currently, John's arm that had been carelessly wrapped about Sherlock's naked waist was roaming south and stroking the inside of his thigh. His entire body was awakening with a lustful vengeance. He wondered if John was awake and knowingly doing what he was doing. Either way, Sherlock didn't care.

John's hand continued to caress the most sensitive skin of Sherlock's inner thigh, teasingly trailing up near the joining of thigh to groin, and then slowly back down once more. Sherlock moaned softly at the touch, feeling the fire begin to seep into its familiar spot deep within his lower belly. John's hands were soft but strong, and Sherlock relished his touch. Often he took the more dominate role sexually between them, although he liked to think he was somewhat fair to John in that aspect. He did enjoy being touched and stroked from time to time.

John's hand wandered towards Sherlock's already apparent erection and wrapped about his cock, bringing a quick inhalation of breath from the consulting detective's mouth. His hand firmly stroked him, fingers trailing each time the hand stroked downwards to caress his balls as well. No sensitive area would be left out it would seem. Sherlock could soon feel the press of John's large erection about his backside as well. John most definitely was awake, and no words need be spoken to confirm it. John's hands were pure magic and Sherlock wondered if John intended to bring him fully to release with merely his hand. Would there be more?

John thumbed the tip of Sherlock's cock, causing it to twitch at the sensitivity ass he did so. John coated his fingers in the precum that leaked from Sherlock's engorged cock and brought his hand away. Sherlock wanted to protest, wondering why in the world John had stopped when Sherlock was beginning to really be turned on...Movement in the bed. Suddenly there was a hand brushing between his ass cheeks and thumbing his opening urgently. Sherlock moaned out in both surprise as well as pleasure. He reached down between his legs and grasped his cock, stroking himself. John's fingers teased and circled before sinking slowly into him and brushing up against his prostate. John's erection found its way back to pressing into Sherlock's backside and he longed to have it deep within him. All of the sensation was causing sensory overload. Sherlock would soon be begging for his release. He pumped his cock faster.

John must have sensed Sherlock's urgency as he was quickly on his knees on the bed behind Sherlock, pulling firmly but gently at his hips until the detective was on all fours on the bed with his ass in a very vulnerable position. Sherlock was left with no time to question it before he felt the warm, wet tongue brush across his most sensitive parts. "Fuck!" He cried out at the newest form of sensation and foreplay, his cock begging to be touched as he'd temporarily paused on stroking himself to get into the position John was pulling him into. The tongue continued its relentless assault. "I'm-I'm going to-" Sherlock began to plead and instantly regretted speaking up as the tongue stopped and there was nothing. No movement. "John, please..." He begged.

This time it was John's throbbing member that pressed up against Sherlock's opening and Sherlock sank backwards onto it, thankful in that moment and revelling in the feeling of being completely filled up. The pressure mingled with the pleasure as John moved his hips in sinful ways to illicit moans, sighs, and whimpers from Sherlock below him. "Bloody hell..." Sherlock sighed. John's breath could now be heard, ragged, rough, haggard behind him. John ran his hands in a loving gesture upon Sherlock's hips as he moved within him.

"You feel so sodding fantastic, Sherlock." John breathed over his back as he grasped his hips tightly and thrust hard within him. Sherlock cried out for more. "Sod this, I want to-"

"Please, John. For fuck sake." Sherlock pleaded for the last time. John slammed into him over and over, thrusting deeply and angling just right as to hit Sherlock's prostate on each and every thrust. Sherlock lost all control seconds after he'd begun his assault and came all over the bed and partly his hand as he'd reached up to take himself once more. John yelled out what could have probably been mistaken as a lowly war cry as he came deep within Sherlock, spilling himself completely. John pulled out quicker than he probably intended to, all of the strength leaving him as he found his release and collapsed backwards onto the bed. Sherlock turned, laying down upon the sheet, not minding the stickiness he'd caused and pulled John into a languid kiss as they lay together in their mess of sex and sheets. "Fucking fantastic, Dr. Watson." Sherlock grinned.

"I couldn't help myself, Sherlock." John sighed. "You've been rubbing that bloody perfect ass of yours against my crotch all bloody night. I've had a hard on for hours now it seems."

"I'll take more of the same whenever the urge finds you." Sherlock stroked his jawline with a lean finger sweetly before laying another kiss upon his lips. Sherlock felt wonderfully warm and relaxed. Spent. They'd perhaps fall asleep once more and wake up to more of the same, or so Sherlock phone on the nightstand pinged. John glanced at Sherlock, questioningly. Sherlock sighed. He'd forgotten to put the damned phone on silent. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He sat up and checked the phone, noting it was Moriarty's this time and not his own. His smile fell.

Give me what I want. You're only making this harder on yourself and on your fiance. Congratulations are in order, I presume. - M

Sherlock quickly replied. He couldn't avoid the cat and mouse game that he and Moriarty seemed to constantly have.

There will be no way of getting to Dr. Watson. He is spoken for and shall remain in my possession indefinitely. - SH

Perhaps there is something else I could entice you to give up. In exchange instead of your John. - M

And that would be? - SH

I'll have you instead, Sherlock Holmes. Panting and wanting for me to get you off just as you beg him. - M

Sherlock's jaw nearly dropped as the last text pinged. Moriarty? Gay? Or just wanting to exact some sort of revenge? Is this what he planned on doing with John if he were to capture him? Sherlock felt suddenly sickened. John paid no attention, merely rested laying naked across the bed with his eyes closed. He was used to the usual back and forth between Sherlock and Moriarty, he had no idea what was being bargained with.

No idea you were a fencerider. What would you have of me? Take me to have your way with and release me? - SH

Precisely. I'd give your once asexual brain something to compare Dr. Watson to. Perhaps more. It may be frightening to experience, but it would most definitely give me satisfaction. - M

No deal. You'll have neither of us for any nefarious purpose. - SH

Suit yourself. But be prepared that if and WHEN I get hold of your precioous fiance, you'll not receive him back in one piece. - M

The phone went silent after that. Sherlock didn't know how to answer such a threat. It chilled him clear down to the bone. Either I willingly hand over Dr. Watson to his certain torture and death, or I allow Moriarty to have his way with me. What sort of sick fuck is Moriarty? Just the thought of Moriarty claiming him the way he'd claimed John, or been claimed himself sat like a stone within his stomach. "What's the bastard after now?" John spoke up nonchalantly behind him, nearly causing the normally calm under pressure Sherlock to almost drop the phone.

"One and the same. You." Sherlock dropped the phone roughly into the nightstand drawer and slammed it shut.

"That's all? I'm not prize..." John snorted.

"You are the most important thing in my life and will remain as so. You've got a wedding to plan, Dr. Watson." Sherlock crawled back on top of his army doctor, skin to skin, laying kisses upon him as he did so. "Shall you take my last name?"

"John Hamish Holmes?" John wondered out loud. Sherlock was growing quickly interested in him once more, as John could feel by the rutting of Sherlock's hips to his. "Certainly sounds better than Sherlock- What is your middle name anyway?"

"There are things still left to discover, John. Perhaps on the wedding night you can torture it out of me." Sherlock met his lips and drank him in. John reached down once more to feel the girth that was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock sighed into his kiss.

"Perhaps I'll do just that." John answered.


	60. Chapter 60

"Oh boys! So good to see you home! I heard the wonderful news!" Mrs. Hudson shouted her excitement as she met the two men walking in the door of221B Baker Street. "I knew when I first met you, Dr. Watson, that you wouldn't be needing that spare bedroom after all." Mrs. Hudson laid the hugs and kisses upon the two. Sherlock smirked in amusement as he usually did whenever Mrs. Hudson was about, unless she was especially agitating that day. John blushed, as he was still getting used to all of the usual people knowing that he and Sherlock, well...that they were a couple and intending to be married.

Up in the flat, Sherlock was pacing about, his laptop open and on the page with the glitch. He was absolutely sure that it hadn't been fixed, at least not in the sense that he couldn't hack his way in again. Perhaps Moriarty had changed it to a different gateway webpage or just changed the lines of computer code that Sherlock had discovered allowed him in. Mrs. Hudson was bustling about to bring them tea, wanting to care for them as she was especially excited about the news. She was babbling on about weddings and tradition and whatnot. Sherlock was able to tune her out, John not so much. He was startled when she plunked down a stack of catalogs and his saucer and cup of tea in front of him. He glanced up at her and sighed. "Oh, dear. Is this too much for you?" She asked, a pitiful look coming over her face.

"Well, usually it's left up to the woman to pick the colors and all. I'm a man, Mrs. Hudson, I'm not interested in all of that." John picked up a catalog and flipped through it.

"If you'd like, I could plan the little details for you. You could just confirm and tell me what you'd like here and there." Mrs. Hudson perked up at the mention of her own idea. John sat up and considered it.

"You'd do that? I- I mean- I don't want it to be very feminine." John stumbled. Sherlock glanced at him, amused once more.

"Oh no dear! I can make it fit for two men without becoming too flowery and all that." Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together happily before disappearing down the stairs. John sighed and ran his hands through his sandy hair. Sherlock came up behind him as he sat in the chair.

"Whatever it will be, John, it will be a glorious occasion." Sherlock bent over to lay a reassuring peck upon his forehead and brushed his fingers through John's soft hair as he did so. John closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Sherlock's fingers massaging his skull. It struck a nerve deep below that John wasn't aware of until recently.

John sighed. "It's been a stressful day, Sherlock. I'm thinking a shower and a nap might be in order for me. I don't see how you can go on and on thinking over this Moriarty thing without taking a break..." John stood and stretched. He had a horrible cramp within his neck that had arisen sometime in the night and he couldn't seem to shake it. Sherlock watched him softly.

"Perhaps that's best. I've merely got to figure out this code once more and then I can concentrate on relaxing." Sherlock picked up his tea and sipped it. John nodded and headed towards the bathroom. A shower would feel bloody fantastic. John thought to himself. He started the water and stepped in to relish the warm water upon his back. Its massaging effect wasn't near as pleasing as Sherlock's fingers within his hair but it was close enough.

John ruffled his damp hair with the towel as he climbed the stairs. He figured he would leave the lower half of the flat for Sherlock to do his wandering and thinking out loud. It never occurred to him that he was at the point where he could knowingly share Sherlock's bedroom with him. He swung open the door, making his way absentmindedly over to the dresser to find something to slip into before he passed out onto the bed. "You won't be needing those, I'm afraid." A deep, sultry voice spoke up from behind him. He spun around to find Sherlock sitting upon the bed, completely nude. John was momentarily shocked.

"After this weekend, Sherlock, I believe I may have to take a raincheck." John never believed he'd ever say that either, but it was true. The entire three day weekend had been spent in the ravages of lovemaking. "I mean, I've discovered muscles I didn't even know I had. I'm rather sore and I've got a bit of a headache coming on." John rubbed his neck once more, Sherlock watching him with narrowed eyes.

"If you must then." Sherlock sighed in actual disappointment and John was once more in awe of the show of emotion. Sherlock had a wider range than he had been previously privy to. "Come." Sherlock motioned, not making to climb under the covers or cover himself up in anyway, only motioning to John to join him on his bed. John wouldn't argue with it. He climbed naked onto the bed and into Sherlock's lap. Sherlock began to run his limber fingers through John's hair as he had done before. John closed his eyes. It felt good. Very relaxing...well, to all parts of his body except...Sherlock grinned.

Sherlock continued to stroke John's scalp, noticing the effect this motion was having. Sherlock tugged lightly on his sandy hair and John moaned out. "Was that a yawn, John?"

John glanced down at his lower parts and couldn't help himself. He wrapped his hand around his begging cock and began to stroke it. Sherlock sucked in a breath as he did so, enjoying the view and continuing to run his hands through John's hair with both hands. Watching John pleasuring himself was doing doing naughty things to Sherlock's lower half as well. John's eyes flew open at the feeling of Sherlock pressing up against his back. "Perhaps I lied about the raincheck." John groaned as he turned. Sherlock pulled his hands away, not knowing what John would do next.

John responded by dipping suddenly down and taking Sherlock into his mouth. The consulting detective cried out "Fuck sake!" at the suddenly exsquisite feeling of John's talented tongue tracing lazy circles about the head of his cock as he continued to firmly stroke himself. John couldn't help it. Apparently his scalp was a trigger. He'd remember that.

Sherlock slowly slipped both of his hands back into John's soft, sandy hair and stroked and tugged in rhythm to John's activities down below. Sherlock was quickly reaching his edge, afraid he'd topple over it too soon. He wanted the feeling to last infinitely. John moaned something around Sherlock's cock and Sherlock hissed at the sensation. "What was that?" He groaned. John repeated it and Sherlock nearly came as he did so. He took hold of John and pulled his face up to meet his. "Much better to not speak with your mouth full in this instance." He panted. He was absolutely throbbing and John was continuing to pump himself without any consideration for his partner. Sherlock's eyes were plastered to the sight.

"I've changed my mind. I want you inside me." John breathed. He climbed onto Sherlock as he sat up in the bed, shocking Sherlock as the man had somehow managed to prepare himself in the seconds before hand and he sank slowly down onto Sherlock's length with a satisfied whimper. Sherlock wrapped his arms about him, bringing him in close as John began to rut against him, bucking here and there. Every movement John made caused Sherlock to overload with sensation. Sherlock quickly discovered that this sitting position was allowing him to be deeper inside John that he had ever been. He moved his hips with John's sporadic movements. "Sherlock..." John groaned as he pulled Sherlock in for a languid kiss. Sherlock devoured him and pulled John's hips in as close as he could, causing John to groan and strain and finally release himself all over Sherlock's chest and stomach. Sherlock increased his movements before disappearing over the cliffside of his orgasm and come deep within his lover. The two sat in this way for sometime afterwards, forehead to forehead, arms draped about each other lazily, coming back down to reality. "So much for the bloody raincheck." John answered as he noticed his headache had all but disappeared. All that remained was the fuzzy haze in the afterglow of their sex. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Says who?" Sherlock glanced up at John in disbelief, causing the smaller man to break out into chuckles of laughter. Sherlock smiled. He loved to hear John laugh. Amusement suited him. John climbed off the bed, picking up the towel to clean off and to apply the boxer briefs he had previously chosen from the dresser drawer. "Now then...you'll be happy to know that I've discovered out next intended target."

John turned and stared at Sherlock. "While I was in the shower?"

"Yes. That's why I made my way up to your bed so quickly, to celebrate. Of course, you do know you can share my bed on the lower floor now that we-"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware Sherlock." John rubbed his brow. A thought suddenly occurred. "Oh lord." His eyes grew wide. Sherlock creased his brow.

"What?"

"What if Mrs. Hudson..."

"I'm sure she didn't hear anything, John. And if she did, she should get used to it. We are a couple." Sherlock smiled as he got up from the bed and wandered down the stairs without bothering to cover up. John could only hope Mrs. Hudson wasn't down below in the flat.

John wandered down and set the kettle on to make another pot of tea. Now that he felt rejuvenated he figured he would stay up a bit. Sherlock was sitting at the computer glancing through screens and information on his laptop. "Thomas Dickers appears to be an accountant for Moriarty. At the moment he runs an accounting firm in London. We'll be paying him a visit incognito on the morrow." Sherlock was pleased, John could tell. It would make for quite a night when the detective was in the right mood.

"Right, good. You'll let Lestrade know the details? How about some takeout? I'll find the menus." John smiled and started back towards the bedroom in search of their collection of take out menus.

Sherlock took the opportunity to pull out the black, scuffed phone and glance through the texts he had been receiving from three that morning and on. He hadn't answered any of them, as they'd all basically been threats on John's life and humanity.

The ones that really made him shudder were too descriptive in nature to give a second glance to and he promptly deleted them all. Moriarty was obviously angry, perhaps to the point where he would make a move himself. Perhaps he would slip up and Sherlock could take the upper hand. He would not stoop so low as to allow himself to be ravaged by the consulting criminal who seemed to be quickly loosing his grip on this reality. One last message arrived as Sherlock made to put the phone away upon the rearrival of John Watson to the room with the folder of menus.

If you won't give me what I ask for I will take it by force, Sherlock. I thought you a sensible man, it is quickly turning to a man who gives no care to the things and the people he loves. This plays in my favor. Perhaps I'll have you and take John for my own as well. Watch your back, Sherlock Holmes. - M


	61. Chapter 61

Sherlock and John exited the cab in front of the prestigious office building that reached towards the heavens and appeared to be completely made of glass from base to tower. John was nervous, adjusting his jacket about him as he shut the cab door behind him. Sherlock stood, long coat flailing in the wind, scarf wrapped neatly around his porcelian neck. "Mycroft seemed none too pleased with you, Sherlock. You certain this is a good idea?" John asked. They'd just recently returned from the Diogenes Club, in which Sherlock had made a rather loud display upon entering and nearly had the two of them thrown out. He did this merely to aggravate his older brother, knowing full well the rules of the club and not caring.

"To him this sum of money is merely on loan and barely a dent in his pocketbook." Sherlock scoffed, but gave John a warm smile nonetheless. "It will be returned once we are able to uncover Mr. Dickers involvement and crime and therefore make the appropriate arrest." Sherlock started towards the building.

"Shouldn't we have come up with a cover?" John asked. Sherlock thought about it momentarily. He'd considered it the previous night as well.

"How do you expect to do that, John? We are two of the most popular men in London. Great Britain, at that. A cover would be somewhat useless. He doesn't need to know our involvement or our curiosity though." Sherlock watched John as his army stride took over and they entered the building, Sherlock holding the door for him. John smiled to himself at the kind gesture. He wasn't used to it and was pretty sure it should be him doing the door holding. Isn't that what the man does? Does that make me the woman in the relationship? There were still many things John hadn't been able to sort out in the relationship yet. He wanted to label them and identify them with something that didn't lessen his masculinity.

The two men found their way up the building into a large marbled office with a waiting room to match. The secretary showed them in. As they entered, an older man, shorter in stature but in no way unfit turned in the large chair and his expensive suit and gave Sherlock a grin. He stood and offered his hand. "The great Sherlock Holmes I presume!" He spoke in a rather loud and robust voice. Sherlock forced a grin and shook the hand offered to him. "And his companion Dr. Watson. So very good to meet you boys."

"The feeling is mutual." John eeked out as he also shook the man's hand. He had a strong grip. John couldn't help but wonder if this would be another one of Moriarty's minions that would need physical dealing with. If so, he was nearly evenly matched. The two men sat, as did the accountant.

"So, what is it that brings the great consulting detective to my firm?" The man flashed an amused look at the two as he leaned across his rather large and wooden polished desk.

"I've become somewhat burdened with a large amount of money since our business has taken off." Sherlock began. John waited, allowing him to talk, ready to jump in and save him if he floundered at any time. "I used to offer my services to Scotland Yard without penance but John insists that bills need paying and we also have a wedding to plan and fund as I'm sure you've heard." Sherlock glanced at John, who couldn't help but flush a pink in his cheeks at the mention. It would be involuntary, John figured, for some time until it became a known thing to all people. "Now I've absolutely no place to put it, and I'd like it managed properly. I've heard from many sources that you are the most reliable and sufficient in this."

"Yes, I dare say that I am, Mr. Holmes." Mr. Dickers bragged. "I'll have your money squared away properly for you in now time. Of course, my time and resources are worth a portion of the funds, as I'm sure you know."

"Of course. I'm willing to pay you a good percentage to handle my money." Sherlock pulled out the three checks that Mycroft had provided him with that showed six figure amounts and up. Dickers took the checks, looked them over, and raise his eyebrows in agreeance. "So, shall we get the paperwork started?"

The process took less than half an hour. Sherlock was filling out papers and directing where he'd like his "funds" to go, while John roamed about the large office, taking everything in and looking for any evidence that Dickers was indeed running money for Moriarty. He wandered over to a table with papers scattered across it and noticed a card laying on top. He became curious. It was an invitation to a prestigious party. John had heard of parties of this nature before. This one happened to be a charity ball. "Do you attend many charities, Mr. Dickers?" John asked as Sherlock handed in the remaining papers he'd just signed.

"Why yes, actually. I do." Mr. Dickers stood and came round the desk with hands in his pockets. "Do an awful lot of fundraising as well, if you know what I mean." The man winked. John wasn't sure he had any idea what he meant but pretended he did. Sherlock joined the men and took a gander at the card as well. "How about the two of you attend this as my +2?" Mr. Dickers offered. John glanced at Sherlock.

"What ever for?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well, I'm sure with the great Sherlock Holmes and Watson in tow we'd be able to bring in much more revenue with a "celebrity sighting". Plus there is wonderful food, dancing and entertainment, and it all goes to a good cause. I believe this particular ball is medically related. Organ donation or blood or something or other." Mr. Dickers seemed less than interested in knowing exactly what it was for.

"We'd be delighted to attend. Thank you for the invitation." Sherlock nodded and shook the man's hand.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! I'll contact PR immediately." Mr. Dickers was an excited little man as he hurried back around his grandious desk and picked up the phone. "Until the ball, Mr. Holmes."

"Until then." Sherlock nodded and guided John out the door and towards the street to hail a cab. John turned to ask him something but the look on Sherlock's face quieted him. The cab pulled in front of them and they entered hastily, en route to 221B Baker Street.

"What's the big deal then? All hush hush?" John crinkled his brow as he questioned his mate.

"Cameras, bugged equipment within the room and possibly personnel within hearing distance outside the building." Sherlock commented. Can't blame him there then. John sighed. "Did you see anything of significance whilst we were there, John?"

"Nothing incriminating, except for maybe this charity ball." John answered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Charity? From an accounting firm that will take no less than a six figure starting balance to handle your funds plus a hefty fee for doing so?" John gave Sherlock a look of disbelief.

"So instead of the money going to charity, it's going to him you believe?"

"Possibly, if nothing else, it's dirty money. Surely we can catch a trail of something there." John smiled defiantly.

"Well done, Watson." Sherlock leaned in. The heat of his breath was upon John's neck. John shuddered. "If I were to kiss you-"

"Not yet, Sherlock. I'm working into it." John stuttered. Sherlock took the hint and drew back. Damn it, why am I so bloody shy?! John flogged himself mentally. His erection had already begun its ascent and there would be little holding him back when the reached the flat.

"Very well," Sherlock smirked and glanced out the window at the passing scenery. "We're going to have to go tuxedo shopping before the weekend. That ball is only two days away."

"I know." John huffed and attempted to adjust himself in the cab. Sherlock's hand wandered haphazardly onto his thigh. John sucked in a breath as his hand came to rest high upon his leg. Sherlock let his lengthy fingers brush his groin and John stifled a groan. Sherlock met his gaze. "Patience." John breathed. Sherlock winked and they rode on in silence.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled loudly upon entering through the door to 221B. No answer. He was removing his coat and looking for a sign that the woman was within the building somewhere. "Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled once more, louder. Still no response. He turned to John, "I suppose she's gone out for her bridge game again-" Sherlock's statement was cut short by John's pressing lips and hands that grasped unruly curls and brought him down to meet him face to face. John's urgency was palpable. He wanted Sherlock. NOW. John locked their lips as he whipped off the blue scarf about the detective's soft neck and gave that pale skin a loving bite. Sherlock sighed and embraced the army doctor.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock..." John breathed onto his neck, sending shivers of anticipation up his spine. "I'm still not used to it out in public. The things you do to me..." John had already managed to remove the tiny tube of lube (they'd taken to keeping them on themselves for just these occasions as any young lusty couple would want to be prepared) from Sherlock's right trouser pocket and his pants were already pool about his ankles.

"Don't apologize..." Sherlock answered between kisses, taking the cue to remove John's jeans as he toed off his shoes. The two men stood a tangle of arms and heated skin with nothing on but their button ups. John was stroking Sherlock into submission and trying to decide which way he wanted him. Sherlock's thought processes were derailed from the moment John had pounced upon him with the kiss and at the moment could only concentrate on the hard cock pressing needingly into his thigh as they explored each other with hands and tongues.

John backed Sherlock into the wall besides the stairs, hands roaming south to caress his firm ass as well as his engorged member. Sherlock was whimpering between kisses now, not able to make an intelligible word. John made his decision and ran his fingers teasingly up between the detective's cheeks, stroking his opening much to the surprise of the taller man. "Please, John..." Sherlock moaned. Finally, something connected. Fingers were instead, probing, stroking his prostate, stretching him and he writhed with the pleasure of it against John's lips. John pushed him slightly in the direction of the stairs. Sherlock complied.

Sherlock took to all fours upon the stairs, not caring about the fact that his knees would soon be rug burned and raw from their activities. John wasted no time in entering Sherlock with a rapid, deep thrust that accompanied the gutteral growl he released as he slid into the tight warmth of his lover. John took hold of his hips so tightly he feared later he may have bruised him. Sherlock didn't care, only leaned back towards John and his thrusting of wild abandon, allowing John's cock to hit that perfect spot each and everytime. "Fuck me!" John cried out as he spilled deep with Sherlock minutes later. His hand that had rested firmly upon Sherlock's cock grasped him firmly as his pace quickened and he brought Sherlock screaming to his release. "Holy shit..." Sherlock commented moments later, struggling to calm his racing heart.

"Sorry. That cab ride was excruciating." John withdrew from him and sat upon the steps, cradling his groin as it was extremely sensitive after just coming. Sherlock grabbed at his trousers, so as not to have a surprise for Mrs. Hudson to have to clean up. It just didn't seem right.

"Agreed. Well handled." Sherlock smiled and pulled John into a kiss. He enjoyed being taken with such primal urgency from John. It only seemed fitting to balance out their gentle lovemaking. Rough and wild every once and a while was good.

"Perhaps we should clean up and get that tuxedo shopping out of the way? I'm not much in the way of shopping." John sighed as he stood to collect his underwear and jeans.

"Brilliant." Sherlock nodded.


	62. Chapter 62

"This isn't comfortable, Sherlock." John huffed as the cab pulled up in front of the grand hotel on the outskirts of London. John silenced his whining to take in the view as the sun was setting on the horizon and illuminating the grounds.

"You'll be out of it soon enough." Sherlock answered, completely straight faced. John glanced at him, waiting for more. "Perhaps sooner than you think if you keep up the cockiness."

"Remind me to continue on then." John joked and smiled. They squeezed hands before exiting the cab and John turned to watch it drive away as another pulled up in its place. People were milling about, admiring the exsquisite fountains and the greenery of the gardens as they approached the building it all of its grandness. The richest and most influential would be present tonight. John was feeling nervous.

"Right there." Sherlock pointed towards an ivy covered archway leading into the labryinth of flowers and the outer gardens.

"Hmm?" John asked, a crease in his brow, noting he'd missed something. Sherlock leaned in closely and breathed his response into John's ear.

"That's where I'll be having you after we've made our appearance." Sherlock leaned away, noting that his partner was not one for public displays of affection and he wouldn't chance embarrassing him this soon in the game. His cock was already struggling within the confines of his tuxedo and he'd do well to hide it most of the night. The thought of pushing John down into all of that greenery and fucking him wildly was flashing within his mind. Sherlock offered his arm.

John merely stared at him, his eyes flitting towards the arch and back to the penetrating gaze upon his soon to be husband's face. "Bloody hell..." He swallowed rather roughly and kept the eye contact. "You couldn't wait to mention that til later? How am I suppose to concentrate-" John shook his head, Sherlock undoubtedly knowing that his mind was playing the same array of images within John's skull as well. John reached down to adjust himself discreetly before taking Sherlock's arm. They were a couple, there was nothing to PDA about that action.

The two walked in, much to the surprise of the other ball attendees. Most greeted them with smiles and even a little applause here and there, some merely watched as the first openly gay consulting detective and army doctor strode in. John was semi relieved to find Mr. Dickers at the same time the man seemed to spot them. I don't care if he is Moriarty's toad, at least perhaps we will save some face here with him. John cleared his throat as he shook the man's hand. "Quite a turnout, Mr. Dickers."

"Yes, yes! Very impressive, and good for the charities!" Mr. Dickers laughed to himself. "Thank you so much for attending. You've brought a great deal of curious folk to the ball this evening."

"Our pleasure." Sherlock grinned and shook his hand as it was offered. "So what's on the agenda this evening? Just the usual meet and greet?"

"Oh yes, much of that. There will be an auction later with some rather valuable and curious items up for grabs and of course there will be much dancing. The bar is open and overflowing and the cuisine is superb. Enjoy yourselves!" Mr. Dickers bid his farewell as a rather older and eloquently dressed woman was begging his attention. Sherlock turned his back to his date.

"So, what shall we do first, future Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock leaned in just close enough to not make John uncomfortable in the public eye. John met his gaze, admiring the spark within his bluish green oceans of soul. He could nearly read Sherlock when he was this open to him.

"Perhaps you should pop out for a smoke?" John patted his jacket pocket. Sherlock's grin faltered and bordered on confusion. "I've taken the liberty to bring a few for this occasion, as I figured it might be better for brainwork."

"So the fact that I crave one after I've thoroughly fucked you into oblivion, or vice versa if you prefer..." Sherlock's voice had taken on its usual deep and hypnotizing timber. "Had nothing to do with your decision to bring them?" Sherlock's eyes bore into him. John felt the heat of the gaze and his blood rose.

"Perhaps..." John whispered back to him. He turned and started towards the entrance. "I need some air. Feel free to join me if you please." John began his walk and Sherlock waited only momentarily before he followed.

John had taken the liberty to strolling out to where few of the rich and wealthy were mingling. They seemed to be drawing inside for something, perhaps the auction. John wasn't interested in any of it. His focus was on the archway, entangled with green ivy that lay ahead. He had glanced behind here and there to see if Sherlock had followed him and surely enough the detective was striding a good while behind, but watching John intently. John could already feel his blood heating, his adrenaline coursing. It was this element of surprise and the anticipation of what would follow that seemed to drive him towards the arch Sherlock had pointed out, spur of the moment. What plans did he have? Had he been here before? Or was this just a deduction on where to make love without the probability of an interruption?

John entered the archway, winding through what would have been a labyrinth of hedge, ivy, and various flowering plants. He glanced back, dismayed to find his fiance nowhere to be found. Perhaps a clue or something had caught his eye. John sighed and dropped his shoulders in disappointment. It was too good to be true. They seemed to be naked with each other a lot nowadays, not being able to follow through here was nothing to be so upset about. Get ahold of yourself, Dr. Watson. Look at the sex crazed maniac you've become. John couldn't help but agree. Factor in the oceans of turquoise that were Sherlock's windows to the soul, his angular features, his handsome face, his skillful and soft hands, and that voice...it was hard to resist that. I'm about to marry him, can we just add that in there somewhere?

John continued his trek through the garden pathway, figuring he may as well take the time to think on his situation a bit, which someone approached him from behind and snaked a hand about his waist. He spun around, intent on possibly striking his attacker, but was met with a deep kiss instead. Sherlock kissed him longingly and deeply, walking him through a particular group of hedge and into a hidden garden opening he most certainly had discovered while trailing John. John quickly fell into pace with Sherlock, the urgency definite between the two of them. Sherlock was nearly tearing at John's tuxedo jacket and shirt, and for once the sanity seeped back in. He ended the kiss, pushing Sherlock back and bit and removed the tuxedo and shirt before doing the same with him and laying them out onto a collection of ivy so as not to soil them. He licked and kissed his way about Sherlock's chest and the taller man moaned at the sensation. John took to massaging his partner through his trousers, feeling the great bulge that had gathered there. How long has he been like this? Dear lord...John couldn't help but smile at the fact that the thought of Sherlock making love to him in this garden had him going all this time. He loved the effect he had on Sherlock, as if this one thing he had power over him in a way.

Sherlock was not wasting any time. He already had John's fly undone and a hand within teasing and stroking. John gasped as a finger traced across his entrance, already slick with lube. Blood hell! You're not fucking around! John's blood boiled with lust. The urgency was erotic, he couldn't deny it. Sherlock was forcing him towards the ground. John abided and removed his trousers before laying upon the soft bed of ivy. Sherlock kicked off his own and lay upon John, meeting his lips in a feverish kiss, his aching cock rubbing pleadingly against John's as they lay in the garden together. Hands wandered, skin became slick with sweat and sex. Sherlock prepared John and caused the doctor to groan out without any heedence. He was writhing and whimpering below Sherlock, causing the urgency to reach its peak. Sherlock hesitated. "Please Sherlock..." John pleaded, bucking against Sherlock's hips and grasping the man's cock and stroking it ever so slowly. Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"Slow down, John or else this isn't going to last very long!" Sherlock whispered. He was overdone with sensation. John seemed to get the hint through the red haze that was their desire and released him. Sherlock heaved on top of John, his breath ragged. He steadied himself, waiting for the sensitivity to relinquish to his control once more, and he entered John with a strong, hard thrust. John cried out, no attempt to muffle it, as at the moment he didn't care. He pulled Sherlock into a rough kiss and placed his hands on his ass to pull him in deeply. Sherlock moaned out as he sunk in up to the hilt in the white hot heat that was John Watson.

"Fuck me, Sherlock. I'm not going to beg you-" John managed to rasp out before Sherlock began to drive away at him, each thrust harder and faster than the last. John was crying out with each thrust, not from pain, but from the divine pleasure as Sherlock drug against his prostate with each and every movement. Sherlock was overcome with rapture and emptied himself before John could come all over his stomach and chest between them. Sherlock steadied himself, coming down from the feeling of floating up into the air. He gaze down at John, who lay with his eyes closed, reveling in the afterglow of their sex. "That was bloody- Fuck." John couldn't make one organized thought. The two lay in the bed of ivy and gazed up as the stars began to make their appearance in the night sky.

"We've really got to stop meeting like this." Sherlock stated, once more straight faced. John stared at him before busting up into a fresh fit of laughter. They became quiet as an announcement came over the grounds.

"The auction will be commencing in ten minutes in the Lebard Room. Many interesting items will be presented including Madame Lebruar's Jaguar, original paintings from Sir Richard Martiea's collection, and a mystery package from our very own Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson." The announcement ceased and the two men looked at each other, baffled.

"Did you enter anything into the auction?" Sherlock asked as he stood, looking towards the small pond beyond their bed of ivy to wash off before applying his clothing.

"No, did you? Did Mr. Dickers?" John was becoming increasingly confused and a little panicked. He followed Sherlock's cue with the pond. He stopped, naked and dripping wet. "Oh god. The tape. What if Moriarty's releasing the tape?!"

Sherlock didn't take the time to respond, only hurried his actions in resuming dressing. The two men hurried back across the gardens towards the auction with renewed anxiety.


	63. Chapter 63

Sherlock and John hurried to get to the edge of the gardens once more, checking each other to make sure they were as properly dressed as they had been when they'd entered, as to not draw suspicion. The grounds was nearly empty of the regal participants of the charity ball. "Do you think it's the tape?" John asked nervously.

"I wouldn't put it past Moriarty to have found some way to get it to the public. Perhaps he knows we are in attendance? Or he's hoping someone with authority will get ahold of it and make trouble." Sherlock was adjusting his tuxedo jacket once more. His face didn't show it, but John could sense how tense he was. We've outted ourselves but that doesn't mean we want the entire world to see us in such a position. John pondered. They entered the hotel lobby and hurried towards the annoucements.

Thomas Dickers met them as they entered. "Just in time for the auction! Will you be participating?" The man was smiling, but John didn't quite know if he was aware of what was happening with their mystery package. "I heard that you've entered a package of some sort to be auctioned off? I'm quite glad you've decided to contribute more than just your famous famous!" Dickers chuckled. Sherlock said nothing, only led John into the main ballroom where all of the people had gathered around a set up stage. A woman in a sparkly red gown was beginning the auction, presenting some rather prestigious looking paintings to be auctioned off. The bidding started high. Sherlock glanced at John. John merely stared ahead in anticipation.

The auction items came one after the other, after the other. Antiques, services, you name it, it was provided and for a very high price. John wondered what, if anything, Dickers contributed. Or did he profit? They had yet to discover what it was that Dickers truly did for Moriarty. If the name was not a dead end given by an already nervous suspect.

"And here we come to the mystery package contributed by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and fiance Dr. John Watson." The woman smiled, her jewelry glinting in the lights of the ballroom. Her helpers, two men in suits, presented a gift wrapped package about the size of a large hardback book. Sherlock tensed. John gulped. Could it be a tape or are we jumping the gun here? John's eyes darted nervously about the room. Some folks were smiling in their direction. Curiousity was becoming rampant among the ball goers. "Sherlock..." John whispered to warn Sherlock that perhaps they should do something. "We will start the bidding out at 1,000 pounds." Bids began to go up. Sherlock left John's side quickly and started up towards the stage. John's eyes widened in surprise and anxiety. What are you doing?! He wished he could yell out to him, but no luck. Sherlock was already on stage.

The woman looked quite baffled as Sherlock produced himself beside her. "Thank you! And good evening." Sherlock raised his voice for all to hear. The mic picked up his deep baritone and carried it about the room. John felt a chill up his spine at the sound. Damnit, John Watson. Get ahold of yourself! John sighed. "There's been a slight change in plans. As we decided that in order to draw attention to the need of this charity and the good things that will come of it, we'd like to raise as much of a profit as possible. Therefore," Sherlock turned and pulled the gift wrapped object from off the pedestal it sat upon and clasped his hands behind his back. "I'll be offering myself up for auction." Confused mumbles from the crowd. Some of the woman who had already been hitting the open bar cheered. Sherlock half grinned with nervousness. His blue green eyes glowed with his anxiety. He met John's gaze. John was nearly through the roof. What the hell?! John tried to convey to him as he stood on stage. "Well, come on now. Don't be shy. I'll auction myself off for an entire 24 hour period in which you may do with me as you please." Laughter from the crowd. "Well, within reason of course. I am spoken for." More laughter. Who knew Sherlock was such a charmer? Well, outside the bedroom that is. John couldn't help but grin himself. Sherlock turned to the emcee. "Bidding starting at say, what? 5,000 pounds?"

A lady within the crowd raised her glass. The emcee stuttered into action, beginning to take the hesitant bids as they began to be called out. John's jaw dropped. Sherlock's ego would only grow larger at this, he knew it was inevitable. The bids were increasing. Sherlock looked to John frantically, trying to motion to him to bid. With what money?! John mouthed back. Mycroft will pay for it! Just do it! Sherlock mouthed back. The bidding was up to 15,000 now. John raised his hand and placed a bid.

Suddenly, he became locked in a bidding war with a man in a dapper tuxedo, matching John Watson bid for bid. Sherlock's attention focused on the man. He was tall, square jawed, serious, drinking a flute of champagne and watching John intently as he bid against him. What is this bloke's deal? John wondered.

"Sold to the gentleman in back for 30,000 pounds!" The emcee rejoiced. John had been too caught up in his thoughts that he forgot to place a bid and missed out. Sherlock looked ridiculously sullen and surprised at the same time. "Congratulations you lucky fellow!" Sherlock headed off the stage, John coming to meet him. He thrust the package into John's arms and pulled him in close.

"If this is indeed the tape, then I've saved the day. Also, if it is indeed the tape, we're going to be viewing it later and you'll more than likely be tied up and thoroughly fucked whilst doing so as punishment for NOT. BIDDING." Sherlock whispered breathily into John's ear. John went rigid with the thought of the act and felt the stirring below. He wouldn't mind such a punishment, as nearly any thought of Sherlock being wildly rough with him excited him. Sherlock glanced up and smiled at the man that had won him as he approached.

"Mr. Holmes. I hope you're worth the pretty penny I paid for you." The man grinned, a dark looking smile of a mysterious man.

"And you are?" Sherlock extended his hand, which was unusual for the consulting detective, but John figured it was due in part to the acting that Sherlock was doing such an amazing job of.

"Sir Arthur Hefoxt. Nice to finally meet you. I've heard much about you and your miraculous return to the land of the living." The man shook his hand firmly. Sherlock was attempting to deduce him, John could see his eyes and mind working their magic.

"So, as soon as you've paid, what shall you ask of me?" Sherlock had to keep himself from sighing with exasperation. It was the only thing he could think of to distract the public from the would be tape within the package, but it had worked out beautifully. Surely 24 hours in the service of this man couldn't really be so horrible? He would do it merely for the pleasure of knowing their sex lives were still kept secret as well as being able to have a good bit of wild fun with John later...completely under his control and willing to do as asked for allowing him to be sold away.

"I'll say we start our 24 hours tomorrow around ten in the morning. I've no use for you tonight whilst I'm drinking and carrying on with the other socialites you see around you. Here's the address." the man handed Sherlock a card with an address upon the back. "Feel free to bring your fiance with you, if you like? I'll at least be able to enjoy the pleasure of both of your company." The man smiled, gave a polite bow of the head, and turned away to go and mingle with the crowd. Sherlock glanced down at the card and read the address. Out in the country. Oh this will be a fun time. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What now then, auction slave?" John chuckled. He was already in enough trouble with Sherlock he didn't mind to add a little more to the fire. Sherlock pulled him close and whispered in his ear once more.

"Shall we make another trip outside? I never had my cigarette and I'm aching to put that smart mouth of yours to better use than bidding." Sherlock's breath was hot upon John's neck. Dear Lord. John was having trouble containing himself.

"What about the ball?" John swallowed. Sherlock glanced around.

"I suppose you're right. We'll save it for our return to the flat later. Let's put this away." He motioned towards the package. "And we'll get to deducing this Dickers fellow and interviewing some of these wonderful rich snobbish types." Sherlock let him go then and glanced about, attempting to locate Dickers. John attempted to douse the fire in his lower belly in vain. He headed off in the direction of the coat room as to lock up the package with the rest of their belongings they'd brought in with them and took to joining Sherlock's side as he bamboozled and charmed Dickers' guests.


	64. Chapter 64

John topped the stairs as they entered 221B Baker Street after yet another long evening out investigating. The ball ended up being a dead end. Nothing to go on but drunken rich schmucks who at least did a good deed and donated money to a medical charity. At least someone will benefit from it. John thought to himself. And at least our sex tape is recovered. Sex tape. It just sounded corny. John had never thought himself one to be involved in such things, and yet here he was engaged to a consulting detective with a self proclaimed sociopathic personality, the British government for a brother, and a psychopathic criminally insane and avid fan that had shot himself in the head and was presumably still haunting them.

Sherlock followed, removing his tuxedo jacket and tromping back into the bedroom. John knew exactly what he was up to. The man who had voluntarily auctioned himself off instead of their tape was pouting because John hadn't won him in the "auction". Some Sir Arthur Hefoxt had won him and they would find out soon enough what kind of day they'd be having tomorrow. John sighed, rubbing his eyes, preparing himself. Not that he was entirely dreading the next who knew how many hours he'd spend in some S&M type situation with his fiance watching as they came together on screen.

John entered the room and Sherlock closed and locked the door behind them. Thank gods he learned. John half smiled, but not where Sherlock could see it. Sherlock said nothing, only ventured over towards their tv mounted upon the wall and opened the envelope to reveal the tape. Sherlock held it up in front of his face and merely examined it for a moment. He went to pop it into their VCR but John stopped him with a kiss. Sherlock didn't pull away, but as soon as the kiss was over he held John's gaze. "This is a promise I will not be breaking, John Watson. You're going to pay." Sherlock grinned devilishly at the army doctor.

"I intend to receive my punishment without any trouble, believe me." John pulled him down into a kiss and placed the tape on the desk below the mounted TV screen. "Only first..." John continued to explore Sherlock's mouth, distracting the detective as he did so, until they were laying upon the shared bed and making out feverishly like teenagers. It was easy to get lost in a kiss between them. Sherlock had barely even realized that he had been ziptied to the mattress tags when John had finished the kiss and pulled away. Sherlock glanced at each of his wrists and then sullenly back towards John.

"Always have to have the upper hand, Dr. Watson?" Sherlock huffed. John said nothing, only unzipped his zipper and pulled his boxer briefs and tuxedo slacks down to his ankles. Sherlock wrinkled his brow slightly in confusion, as if trying to decide exactly what was going on. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

"Oh I doubt that." John chuckled as he crawled off the bed long enough to disrobe himself until he crawled onto the bed facing Sherlock completely naked. Sherlock arched an eyebrow and noted that John was already ready for attention. "I'm absolutely positive that this is going to improve the outcome."

"Really?" Sherlock seemed non plussed.

"Yes, really. What is it you always tell me? 'It's an experiment'. Think of it that way. Give me ten minutes at the most and then you can deal with me as you please." John crawled forward, seeing that only the view of him in such a position was causing the detective to stir. John breathed deeply before engulfing Sherlock's cock wholeheartedly. Sherlock's hips bucked forward and his breath hitched. Dear gods! He thought to himself as John began his rhythmic up and down with his warm wet mouth and frantic searching tongue. Sherlock had no hope of lasting very long if John kept this up. "Gods, John..." Sherlock sighed and glanced down, unable to move, wanting to run his hands through that sandy hair and guide John as he sucked and licked upon his engorged member. "You know I won't be able to-"

The sinful ways of John's mouth were quickly met in unison with a teasing, probing finger to Sherlock's entrance. He moaned and writhed at the sensation, loving it, wanting so badly to have it within him in that second. "Holy fuck!" He cried out as John thankfully inserted the lubed finger inside him and softly brushed his prostate. John was advancing his speed. And adding another finger. "John, I'm coming!" Sherlock forgot how corny he originally thought that would sound if he ever yelled it out, but lost in the moment he nearly screamed it as he came hard and emptied himself down John's throat. John moaned his agreement around the overly sensitive tip of Sherlock's cock and pulled away, fingers as well. Sherlock was breathing raggedly. He glanced down to see John taking his own throbbingly hard cock into his hand, and before Sherlock could deduce that he was lubricating himself, John thrust himself within him.

Sherlock was so overcome with the sensitivity of his orgasm that every sporadic and wild thrust John made into him caused him to arch his back and moan as the army doctor had his way with him. Unintelligible words drained from his mouth and met with John's primal grunts as he took the remaining few minutes he had allowed himself for this 'experiment' and came deep within Sherlock's tight warmth. He said nothing as he caught his breath, and slid off of Sherlock. Sherlock watched him silently, in awe and amazement as John pulled a pocket knife from the bedside table and cut him free from the zip ties. "There. Now do what you will. It seems I've been a very naughty boy just now." John laid back upon the bed and closed his eyes, allowing the calming warmth of the afterglow of sex to wrap itself about him. Sherlock was still in shock. He made to sit up and hadn't even noticed that his cock was once more at an agonizingly wanting hardness. John had given him release and then brought him back up to the level he himself had begun at.

"You cheeky bastard." Sherlock rolled over on his side and took John roughly towards him in a kiss. John melted into it. "I suppose being in the medical profession, you're aware that this is only going to prolong your punishment since I've just-" Sherlock stopped. John was grinning. Well of course he knew. He's a quick learner. Why didn't I ever think of that? Sherlock crawled off of the bed and made his way back to the TV, popping in the tape. He returned and pulled a few things out of the bedside table. "He motioned for John to sit up and promptly turned the man towards the TV, pulling his hands behind him and handcuffing them together. John should have known. When Sherlock says tied up and thoroughly fucked, he means it in the most literal sense. John felt his cock twitch as he recovered from his release. Sherlock gave him a most unfamiliar slap on his ass for good measure and John grimaced at the slight sting.

"Let's see. I've never actually watched a porn before so this should be interesting." Sherlock stated before he pushed play on the remote. There appeared on the screen the two men, entangled in a rough kiss within the confines of the Baskerville lab. Clothes were being hastily ripped off, hands were grabbing, bites were made...the two watched silently for the first few moments. "Oh." Sherlock commented and pointed at a certain act being made upon the other on the screen. "It would seem I rather enjoyed that, but let's see if you do." John's eyes widened as the consulting detective thrust his head down into the mattress and pulled at his hips until his ass was vulnerably up in the air. "No worries, I'm not going to rape you. I think if I enjoy it as much, you may as well." John kept his eyes upon the screen, waiting with trembling anticipation as Sherlock searched for something within the drawer. A few seconds later a hand was stroking him firmly from behind as fingers teased, caressed, and penetrated him. John moaned his agreement, trying his best to watch as his dominate video tape alter ego had his way with the consulting detective. The drug had most definitely made the two extremely aggressive. He hoped that Sherlock would be a bit more gentler this round than John had been to him in that lab.

John couldn't deny that the fingers that stroked his prostate along with Sherlock's liquid hands upon his cock felt fucking amazing. That was before John felt the newer sensation of Sherlock's tongue against his opening. He sighed into his, feeling that he was going to overload and fearing he would come. Sherlock sensed this. "Don't you even think about coming before I've told you you can. This is a punishment, remember?" Then continued on in teasing figure eights and circles. John couldn't help it, the views on the screen of the positions they took while in their drugged lust, combined with the overload of foreplay.

"Sh-Sherlock-" John moaned and Sherlock quit his assault. Only for a moment, until John was able to calm his thoughts. Then he started once more. "Bloody hell..." John groaned as Sherlock continued.

Sherlock continued to tease and taunt John repeatedly, backing off when John was too close, starting up again in full force once he could clearly think again. John glanced at the clock. This is going on and hour and a half now! John didn't know if his prior actions were the best course for the night. He was going to be aggravatingly and achingly hard for who knew how long.

"John..." Sherlock's breathing was becoming short and needy. "I meant for this to continue much much longer but I can't stand it anymore." This was the only warning John received before his hips were pulled back to meet the hard thickness of Sherlock's girth and the detective slid into John, illiciting a moan of pleasure as he did so. Sherlock wasted not time beginning his thrusting. John tried to think of anything and everything to keep from coming before Sherlock did. Finally, John sighed with relief when he heard "Come for me, John..." and he emptied himself into Sherlock's hand as Sherlock filled him up from the inside. Sherlock collapsed back against the bed and John motioned to him tiredly with the hands still bound in cuffs. Sherlock pushed a button on the side and the popped open and fell off. John stared at them for a moment, but decided not to say anything. "Not much of a punishment, I know, but damn I just wanted..." Sherlock rolled over to meet John and ran his hand upon the doctor's jawline lovingly. "Well, as you can see you know what I wanted." He pulled John into a kiss as their rampant lovemaking played out on the TV screen.


	65. Chapter 65

"Everything okay in there?" Lestrade called out as he sat on the couch in Molly's flat. He was waiting anxiously, tapping his fingers on his knees as he sat and waited for her to finish getting ready in the bathroom. He'd been waiting a good twenty minutes now. Well, this isn't anything unexpected. Lestrade chuckled to himself. Women always seem to take their time when getting ready. Lestrade was beginning to contemplate the eccentricities of the female gender when he heard the door to the bathroom open and turned his eyes up to see Molly stroll out of the bathroom. She'd gone in with nothing on but a terry cloth bathrobe. She was now wearing one of her sweet dresses that Lestrade loved her in. Everything about Molly was sweet to him, from her smarts to her cute personality, to the outright innocence within her...and Lestrade could appreciate the physical things about her as well. He could not see how Sherlock could have passed her up.

Molly came around to stand in front of him, wearing the cutesy little dress with a red cardigan and, as Lestrade could see, a new pair of red heels to match. He crinkled his brow. Molly is most definitely not a heel kind of girl. Is this to impress me? "Wow, you look...stunning!" Lestrade smiled and rubbed his knees with his hands nervously. He didn't know why he felt so anxious. Perhaps because he feared one sideways step and he'd lose her for good. He didn't deserve her, he knew he didn't.

"Thanks!" Molly grinned and shyly tucked her long brown air behind her ear. "I was wondering..." Her eyes darted off in another direction as she began her conversation. Lestrade listened intently. "I know you planned for us to go out and eat tonight but perhaps we could have a night in?" Molly asked. Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"Well, sure. If that's what you'd like." He gulped as Molly came closer, standing in between his knees and twirling her hair about on her finger, a normal Molly nervous gesture. Lestrade thought it was adorable. "What were you thinking? Take out? I could rent us a flick..." Molly reached down and ran her fingers through the Detective Inspector's salt and pepper hair and down around his jawline, drawing his eyes up towards her. He rose slowly to meet her as she pulled him into a sweet kiss. His hands wandered up the smoothness of her legs and, as the kiss became more intense, up under the hem of her dress. Normally this would be the time he'd find her pantyline and trace it with his fingers while he lost himself within her embrace, but his fingers found nothing this time, nothing but a strange strap he'd never felt before. He pulled back and glanced at her confused.

"Well, you'll still be eating out." Molly blushed a deep crimson color as the words left her mouth. Lestrade's mouth fell open a bit, as he took her meaning. Up to this moment the two had shared each other's beds a few times, but foreplay had never really been included. The kissing alone made Lestrade hard within his trousers. Molly pushed him away with a smile on her face and he sat back upon the couch and watched her, wondering what exactly it was he had felt under that dress that fit her like a sweet glove. "If you're still hungry, that is." Molly winked at him, very uncharacteristic of her, and Lestrade felt his cock straining against his boxers. He found the will to remind himself to nod and watched as she disappeared into the bedroom and soft music began to play. Not her usual folk alternative style that she enjoyed, but something with a bass beat and a groove to it. She reappeared seconds later, her back to him. Lestrade's interest was definitely peaked.

Molly began to move to the music, slowly moving her hips back and forth to the beat. She ran her hands up her body and through her hair, flipping it about her shoulders and around one side every once and a while to show her neck off. She slowly slid off the cardigan and threw it to the side. Oh my gods, she's giving me a striptease. Lestrade felt the urge to either reach out and attempt to touch her, or to reach inside and take control of himself, but he denied himself either. The out of characterness of Molly was breathtakingly erotic and completely unexpected. His eyes remained train up on her as she continued.

Molly finally slid the dress of of each shoulder and down her body until it pooled around her ankles. She was not completely naked, for as she turned, she revealed a red and black lace bustier complete with a matching garter belt that connected to her nude colored stockings. Lestrade's mouth officially hit the floor when he realized she wasn't wearing any underwear. Molly had also taken the liberty of shaping her pubic hair into a neat trimmed strip and was completely bare everywhere else. Lestrade was achingly aroused now as he watched her continue to gyrate to the music. He noticed her attempts at modesty here and there and her willpower to allow herself to be seen in the way she was presenting herself. He assured himself she had never done anything like this before, as her cheeks were apples of red and her smile was nervous and ear to ear.

"I've been a bad girl, Detective Inspector." Molly said, in a low seductive voice. It caused a chill of anticipation to echo throughout Lestrade's body. Molly reached down in between her breasts and removed a pair of handcuffs. Lestrade's eyebrows went up once again. "I stole these. I hope that perhaps we could work this out somehow...just between us..." Molly neared Lestrade, brushing up against his legs as she stood between them once more, the handcuffs dangling from one finger.

"Um, well, uh-" Lestrade stuttered, and leaned forward suddenly, causing him to fumble into her and the handcuffs fell to the floor.

"Oh!" Molly gasped and bent to pick them up, trying desperately to regain the confidence she had just been exhibiting. Lestrade leaned back once more, a pained look on his face.

"I'm sorry!" He stuttered.

Molly's smile faltered but returned slowly. "That's okay, this whole thing is kind of dumb anyway...it isn't me at all. I thought you'd like it." Molly started and nervously tucked the hair behind her ear again. Lestrade stood up quickly.

"No, no! I love it, it's very sexy and you are doing exceptionally well." Lestrade brought her hand towards him and brushed it up against his groin, allowing her to feel his readiness.

"Oh!" Molly gasped and smiled. "So, I was doing good then?"

"Well, Ms. Hooper, you've stolen from an officer of the law and you've also promised me dinner. I believe you'd better pay up if you don't want this on your permanent record." Lestrade went half serious for a moment and the two of them had a small laugh. Lestrade took the handcuffs from her and slapped them on her wrists, not tightly as to allow her the freedom to move them about if she needed to. "Let's settle this behind closed doors, shall we?" Lestrade pulled her to him and picked her up, meeting her eager mouth with a kiss as he carried her this way into her bedroom and shut the door behind him with his foot. He set her down inside, exploring her mouth with his tongue as she loosened his belt and pulled him out into her handcuffed hands. She began to massage and stroke him and it felt so fantastically good he groaned into her mouth as she took hold of him. He could feel her smiling as he did so, pleasing her that he was enjoying the feeling. She continued on in this way for a few as he worked on his shirt and managed to discard it into the floor. Once naked, he surprised Molly by throwing her lightly onto the bed and crawling on top of her. She giggled, she couldn't help herself.

Lestrade began to kiss down her body, over the lingerie, taking it all in. The smell of her, the vanilla scent that she liked so much, the feel of the softness of her skin, the rough lacey parts of the lingerie, until he reached her most sensitive parts and began to kiss and lick there as well. Molly's breath hitched, as she was already well turned on from pleasuring Lestrade with her hands. Lestrade was amazingly good with his tongue, as it did not take long for him to lick and nibble, and caress her into a cascading orgasm. She called out his name softly as she came and glanced down to watch him staring up at her from below with a grin on his face. "How would you like me?" He asked, a deep gutteral sound, his blood afire with want.

"Lay down." She whispered to him. He crawled onto the bed and lay down, naked, his cock standing rigidly at attention. Molly wasted no time in crawling on top of him, heels and all, and sinking down onto him with a pleasurable sigh. Nothing more was said as she moved on top of him, loving the feeling of him within her, enjoying the faces of pleasure and lust he made as he put his hands upon her hips and guided her as she rode him out to their orgasm. They came together with mingled cries. Lestrade watched her as she caught her breath atop him, still buried deep within her. "I hope you enjoyed that."

Lestrade quickly sat up, still within her, taking her softly into his hands and pulling her towards him once more for a tight embrace and a loving kiss. "That was bloody fantastic, my Molly." Lestrade smiled and loved her. She giggled once more and he enjoyed the musical sound of it. Molly glanced over at the floor as Lestrade's phone began to ring. Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed. Molly moved off of him with a small sigh of desire as he got up off of the bed and retrieved the phone from his trouser pocket and answered it. "Hello?"

"Greg, it's John. I hope I didn't wake you." John started in.

"No, no. It's fine. Was just working up an appetite." Lestrade smiled and Molly collapsed onto the bed in silent giggles once more. Lestrade turned away from her with a smile. "What's up?"

"Tomorrow Sherlock and I have to go and do some service for a man named Sir Arthur Hefoxt. Ever heard of him?" John asked.

"No, it doesn't sound familiar. Think he's involved with Moriarty?" Lestrade answered.

"Not sure, I don't think so. Sherlock got this brilliant idea to auction himself off at the ball tonight and this man 'purchased' him. Just wondering. We are supposed to travel to his estate at ten in the morning. I'll text you the address. If you wouldn't mind checking him out for us just to be safe."

"No problem. Can it wait until morning? I've got plans the rest of the evening." Lestrade glanced at Molly, who was starting to remove the lingerie to reveal her perky pale breasts. Lestrade was becoming very interested once again, especially when Molly traced her way through her hair and down her body the way she was at the moment. "I'll call you if I find anything interesting."

"That's great, thank you so much. I'll let you get to whatever you have planned. Goodnight." John hung up. Lestrade did as well and tossed the phone back down into the pile of clothing he'd taken it from.

"Now, dear, I believe I have a desire for seconds..." Lestrade approached his naked lover and took her once more in for a languid kiss as they fell back among Molly's sheets.


	66. Chapter 66

Sherlock and John admired Sir Arthur Hefoxt's estate as the cabbie pulled up the mile and a half long private driveway. The mansion sat back on the property away from the road and it was very obvious that this man either came from money or had an established flow of income. John watched the approach towards the estate wearily. He hadn't had much sleep the previous night thanks to his punishment for the predicament they'd wound up in. Sherlock sat beside him, a comforting hand upon John's knee. He was glad it was there. He didn't feel at all right about their situation.

As the cabbie dropped them at their destination, John followed along side Sherlock as the butler greeted them on the marble steps and showed them inside. The two remained silent as they listened to their footfalls as they echoed in the great hall. John felt he was back in Buckingham Palace. He probably could have been for all he knew. Sir Arthur was loaded. Sherlock glanced softly at John as they walked. He too was feeling a bit tired. They shouldn't have stayed up as long as they had knowing they had this little task to get out of the way. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't get enough of John. He did note that John was walking more army than ever since they'd exited the cab. What is he so defensive for? This is a menial task for a rich snob that will be over and done with for a good cause, I suppose. Nonetheless, Sherlock kept John's stoic gait within his line of sight as they rounded a corner and were shown to the gardens in which Sir Arthur stood admiring the cutting of the hedge and roses that adorned his massive backyard. He turned and greeted the boys in turn. "Ten o'clock precisely. I'm impressed with your punctuality." Sir Hefoxt bowed and smiled slightly to show his agreement.  
"We aim to please, it would seem." John popped off and Sherlock's eyes flitted in his direction at the mention. John tried to cover his crassness with a grin and offered his hand. Sir Hefoxt took it and shook Sherlock's in turn. 

"So glad you could bring your associate, Mr. Holmes." Sir Hefoxt turned his attention to Sherlock, perhaps meaning to ignore John for his rudeness. 

"Fiance." John corrected, arms behind his back and a sullen look upon his face. Sherlock kept his face as stoic as possible, although his brow betrayed him momentarily. Why is John so on guard? Sherlock was baffled. Perhaps John was just tired. He had been a busy boy all night long.   
"Forgive me." Sir Hefoxt sighed and bowed his head, trying his best to look sorry but failing. "Please, do follow me. I'll give you a tour of the grounds." He started off down the concrete walkway. "Do walk with me, Mr. Holmes." He motioned for Sherlock to fall into step beside him and Sherlock obliged. John followed huffily behind, boring a hole into Sir Hefoxt's head all the while. There's something off about him. I can't place it, but I sense it. Perhaps it's old military paranoia but my gut feelings have been right on more than one occasion. John knew he needed to control himself, but he was finding it increasingly hard to do so.   
"I appreciate your contribution to the charity in my honor, Sir." Sherlock began, his arms now clasped behind his back, his attention on Sir Hefoxt as he intended to deduce him. New suit, never worn, very expensive. Had coffee with extra cream and an english muffin for breakfast, although he seems hungry. His very eyes show it. No pets, perhaps no immediate family in the vacinity. Self employed, by the looks of things. Not born into money...but he has much of it. Toothache prevelant by the look of things. Ex-military, perhaps sharp shooter by his stance and hands. This was something most interesting. "May I ask, are you ex-military?"  
Sir Arthur hesitated but only momentarily. Only long enough for John to glimpse it. "Why, yes. I suppose that is your deduction skills hard at work, Mr. Holmes. Yes, I've been out of the service going on about five years. Miss it, I won't lie. I prefer my self employment much more these days." The man grinned and Sherlock left it from there. 

Sir Hefoxt showed the men the grounds and the inside of the estate, leading them towards his study, within a large library. Sherlock and John entered and sat in front of the large desk. "I've purchased your services, Mr. Holmes, so as to solve me a small mystery." The man sat behind the large polished wooden desk and began to tap his fingers upon it as he leaned forwards across the desk, eyes boring into Sherlock's as he sat across from him. Sherlock was nonchalant as usual, listening. "I've heard of your famous deduction and crime scene investigation and so I haven't contacted Scotland Yard to deal with my situation."

"What situation would that be, may I ask?" Sherlock inquired. John sat motionless next to him, staring at Sir Hefoxt, trying his best to deduce the man to the best of his mediocre ability. He wasn't getting much more than his gut feeling and creepy guy vibe. Frustrating.

"Well, it turns out I've been receiving threatening letters from a man stating he is going to kill me. Possibly for my money. I don't know of a motive." Sir Hefoxt pulled out a manilla envelope with a few badly made ransom note type letters and Sherlock rifled through them. "No prints, no notice of who it might be. I've had a few break ins around the grounds as well. They've been happening nightly now for the past week. I was hoping since I have charge of you for the next 24 hours that you may stay upon the grounds and catch whomever is threatening me."

Sherlock glanced at John. John said nothing, only looked through the letters as well. The usual threats, such as "I'll kill you while you sleep." and "I'll make you suffer." Nothing that would give any indication that the man was someone this Sir Arthur knew, much less a motive. "I would be happy to do this for you. If you would provide a room and a few materials."

"Certainly. Anything you require." Sir Hefoxt smiled and leaned back within the chair. "Lunch is precisely at noon in the dining hall, supper at approximately seven o'clock. None of the activity has started until right around one in the morning. Perhaps because he thinks we are all asleep then." The man nodded.

"Happy to be of assistance." Sherlock grinned and offered his hand once more. Friendlier than he was normally, John noted. Does he sense that something is amiss as well?   
Sherlock made his way across the estate with John in tow. It was 1:35 in the morning and nothing of interest had happened. Sherlock had taken to wandering about the estate without the use of a flashlight so as to try and hear and sneak up on any intruder that seemed to be coming their way.

The boys had joined their charge at both lunch and supper to limited conversation. Sherlock was not much of a talker in the ways of politics or money, as he was only interested in the brainwork. John had politely carried on the conversation in his stead so as not to appear rude. Earlier in the day Sherlock had searched the letters for any clues, but the letters were aggravatingly clean. No prints, not fabrics, no hair. Boring.

The break ins had been simple. Rock thrown in a window here or there, plants hacked and outside patio furniture mauled. John had rolled his eyes in exasperation. He's charged us with finding some hooligan who likes to glue magazine letters to paper to tease him and who enjoys cutting up cushions. John sensed an ulterior motive from Sir Arthur, not from the person threatening him. He still couldn't place it, and he hadn't bothered Sherlock with it, as the detective was trying his best to do for his client at the expense of getting back their tape. The tape, now there was something to think about. That tape would be worn out long before anyone would be able to get their hands on it again. John shook the thoughts from his head and continued to walk beside Sherlock as the entered the uppermost floor of the estate.   
John instantly put an arm out as they rounded the top of the stairs, hearing a noise. He pulled the firearm from his jacket and began to slowly approach the noise. Is this our hooligan? He questioned as they walked about silently in the dark. Sherlock was following behind John quietly, following his lead, trusting him to guide them. Their hooligan was near the broken top floor window. "Hold it right there!" John shouted, startling the youth as he turned and instantly put his hands up in the air.   
"Don't shoot!" The man stuttered fearfully. John was somewhat taken aback. This was unusual. The man seemed absolutely terrified. Why would you be breaking in and causing trouble if you're this scared of getting caught? John approached him slowly.  
"What are you doing breaking in here?" John asked firmly. The young man's eyes widened. 

"I'm not breaking in! I'm trying to get out!" The man squealed. John's brow creased in confusion and he nearly dropped his aim with the firearm a bit. A shot rang out. The man twirled back as if hit by an invisible force and fell back, cutting his arm upon the broken window. John whirled around, noting Sherlock laying upon the floor unconscious. He fired a shot off into the darkness, only to feel himself hit but something as well. He began to feel dizzy, his vision blurring. He glanced down, noting a dart buried within his chest wall. "Bloody fucking..." He uttered before the blackness pushed in from the edges of his vision and reality blackened.


	67. Chapter 67

John awoke on the floor of some dusty room within the mansion. He could tell because it seemed that every room within the old estate had a distinct musty odor, no matter how nice each of the rooms looked. He had been drugged, he knew this much, as this wasn't a new sensation for him. His vision continued to blur and his equilibrium was obviously compromised. He tried his best to focus his eyes and take in his surroundings. Sherlock, where's Sherlock? He glanced about and noticed his fiance sitting on an old antique loveseat to the left side, calmly. John did his best to right himself in the floor, but found he couldn't get himself to his knees just yet. "Sherlock..." He slurred.

"Take it easy, John. We've each had a rather stout dose of some drug. It takes a while to get back on your feet again. Easy." Sherlock reassured him without even so much as a glance in his direction. John squinted, noting the usual emotionless look upon his lovers face.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" John slurred once more but took his time as to make himself understood. Sherlock nodded. "The man, Sherlock. He said he was trying to get out, not breaking in..."

"Yes, this is true. Our host was keeping him held within the estate purely for the purpose of giving me something to chase. I'd almost completely deduced this before we were attacked based off of the so-called clues and such that we were being fed. I wasn't completely sure, and therefore allowed us to be weak."

"You couldn't have known, Sherlock..." John started to lean to the side and righted himself. Sherlock glanced somewhat in his direction. Why won't he look at me? He's being somewhat cold. "What's wrong?"

"I will agree, I'm a little flustered to be in our current situation, as I'm not completely sure where we are, but I'm a bit more concerned about that device strapped to your left arm." Sherlock gulped and there in that moment John could see he was attempting to keep himself calm. John looked down at his left arm and noted the device that was indeed strapped to his upper arm. It was a smallish black arm bracelet with metal nodes attached to the flat side that rested against the skin of his arm. The device made no noise and had no digital numbers flashing. John wondered if it was a bomb. He made to reach for it and heard Sherlock's breath hitch.

"Don't. John. Leave it. Until we speak to Sir Arthur Hefoxt, don't make any strange moves and don't touch whatever it is he has attached to you." Sherlock met John's eyes finally. John held his gaze for a moment and nodded. Sherlock glanced back and retained his original position sitting on the loveseat. John sighed and laid back onto the floor, staring up at the dusty light as it shown down upon them.

John sat up like a vampire out of a coffin as he heard the door knob turn. Sherlock stayed still, not wanting to make any movement that might be fatal or wrong in any fashion. Sir Arthur Hefoxt entered, cane in hand. "Hello, dear guests. Sorry I couldn't have made you more comfortable. None of the upper bedrooms are completely secure as of yet." Neither of the men made any gesture or said anything so the man continued. "I'm sure you're wondering who I really am. I am rather surprised that Mr. Holmes here hadn't deduced it yet. I'm sure his head's been quite fuzzy with the newly found emotions and sentiments he has expressed for you, Dr. Watson." John glared at him. "So, have you figured it out yet, Mr. Holmes? Who am I?"

Sherlock said nothing, which in this case was unusual, at least to John. Sherlock was staring the man down, but instead of rattling off into a long egotistical deduction, Sherlock remained silent. "Cat got your tongue? Very well. I'll give you a hint. It's in my so-called 'last name'."

"Hefoxt." John blurted. Sherlock's eyes flitted in his direction, as if to say What do you think you're doing, John? Just be quiet. John couldn't help himself. If Sherlock wouldn't say it, he would. "The fox. Not very slick with only moving the first letter to the back but I suppose it sufficed. You had us both fooled. Mr. Moran."

"Well done, Dr. Watson!" Moran clapped, never once letting go of the cane within his hand. John eyed it. So did Sherlock. Much like Mycroft's. Perhaps there's a firearm hidden in there somewhere. I'd almost put my money on it. John sighed. Moran was a deadly good shot. There was no wrestling the cane from him without ending up injured. He stayed put. "Boss told me it'd be a damned good show to bring you here and play through this little cherade. He does enjoy his games. I'd much rather put a bullet into your head, the both of you, and be done with it. But then Boss would get bored and we'd all be fucked." Moran sneered. "I've got a proposition for you, and from Boss."

"Not interested in joining the dark side, Moran. I'll take the bullet." John was beginning to get angry and his temper was getting the better of him. He noted the flitting of Sherlock's eyes in his direction once more. Silence, John. Don't get yourself killed.

"Not much of a choice for you boys. I can see you won't be easily swayed. But I'll bet on it your man here will be." Moran smiled and pulled a remote from his jacket pocket and held it up. "You see this? This is the remote to that lovely little bracelet wrapped about your pretty's arm." He motioned to John. John glanced at the device upon his arm. Sherlock only stared at Moran markedly. "Remember when I shot your sweetheart? He of all people should know that sometimes only so much shrapnel can be removed from a gunshot wound such as that."

John swallowed hard. He had an idea of where this was going. He'd had the headaches and the pains within his shoulder and neck. He could only imagine what the device would actually do. Sherlock didn't move, but he looked a lot like a deer in the headlights. "Within that device is a chemical that will be swiftly injected into your lover's arm if my request is not carried out. It will react with the special chemical compound I soak all of my bullets in and will be a fairly painful and slow death for poor John." Moran laughed, actually laughed, and the sound was grating within Sherlock's ears.

"What is it you want?" Sherlock growled at Moran. He still refused to turn and look at John, perhaps from the fear of that remote button being pressed prematurely.

"Our friend Dickers does in fact run money for Boss, as I'm sure you've been told." Moran leaned against the door, cane still in hand. "He runs a black market organ donation business on the side but he's been pocketing a majority of the money. You're going to find his base of operations and get it back, account numbers and all. And you're going to do it within 48 hours." Moran sneered again.

"Why can't you handle your own employees yourself?" Sherlock growled through gritted teeth. The veins were popping out in his neck. John watched him intently.

"You're much better at figuring out and finding things then I normally am. In less amount of time. Which is good for you since you have so little of it to use." Moran coughed. "Boss will allow you the 48 hours or else I push this button. It won't matter how far away I am, or what conditions I'm in. Even if you were to kill me in this room, in the allotted time it will detonate itself. Only I have the connection to the boss and only I can report to him that you've completed your objective." Sherlock sighed. He noted that he was backed into a corner with this one.

"Fine. Can you offer any clues to this business and base of operations?" Sherlock sounded defeated as he dropped his head.

"I know that Dr. Elvingston, a surgeon at St. Bartholomew's is in on it with him. Perhaps start there. I'll allow you to hail a cab back to your beloved flat and at the moment you arrive the 48 hours will commence. Be wary." Moran stepped forward and threw a card at Sherlock. Sherlock only watched it flit to the floor. "The cell number on there is to be contacted when you've discovered what needs discovered." Moran stepped to the side and opened the door, allowing the men to stand and to exit through the room. John followed Sherlock out into the hallway. Moran spoke low as he followed him. "Don't attempt to remove that pretty bracelet of yours. It will detonate if messed with, although you're free to shower and go about life as usual. Well, for the next two days anyhow." Moran laughed and when John turned to possibly give him a talking to he was gone.

Sherlock said nothing as they exited the estate. He spoke next to nothing in the cab on the way back to 221B Baker Street. John wondered if he should try to start a conversation, but the far away look upon Sherlock's face made him think otherwise. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until the two men were back up in the flat and Mrs. Hudson was on her way to a bridge game. John paced while Sherlock removed his coat and scarf and placed them in their usual place on the back of the door and shut it. "Sherlock, have you got any inkling of where to go with this?" John started as he turned to face the consulting detective. Sherlock met him in answer with an urgent kiss. John was caught off guard. He pulled himself away from him. "Bloody hell! We've got two days, Sherlock, and you're feeling randy right this minute?!"

"John." Sherlock's face was pained as he pulled him back into another kiss. John fought him on this one two, although normally he wouldn't be opposed to it. Sherlock put both hands upon John's shoulders and began to breath erratically. John feared he was having a panic attack. "John, it's all my fault. Everytime I turn around someone is using you against me. You're life is in my very hands and constantly it is being tested and threatened. I'm no good for you."

"What are you blabbering about?! You are good for me, and I you. This is a hiccup. Nothing more. You'll deduce this, we'll report it, things will be fine, as they always are." John couldn't help but doubt his words, as was the human condition when under strain, but he reassured his lover as to not let the fear get deep into him and distract him from their goal.

"I just- I don't know, John. If I lose you-" Sherlock shook his head, not liking the sound of it upon his lips. John stroked the back of his neck calmingly, lovingly. Sherlock met his lips once more. John allowed this kiss longer before breaking it off.

"You're not going to lose me. You're going to be brilliant and we're going to be married." John smiled and laughed to himself as he said those words. Sherlock matched his smile, if only momentarily. "Love me, Sherlock. I'll let you love me." John whispered, sensing perhaps the emotion and fear was spurring Sherlock into a need to feel close.

Sherlock smashed his lips into John's and walked the army doctor towards the bedroom through their kitchen. Clothing and shoes found their resting place about the flat without a care. By the time the two men had reached the bedroom they were both completely naked and fully engulfed in the exploration of each other.

Sherlock spun John around and dropped him onto the bed, laying upon him and finishing the languid kiss. John came up for a breath and Sherlock disappeared below to take John's prominent erection to the back of his throat. John cried out in surprise and pleasure and wrapped hands in lazy dark curls as Sherlock began to suck and lick him into a frenzy. "Oh gods...fuck me..." John pleaded without knowing exactly what he was saying. Everything was a hot hazy blur and an unquenchable fire blazed within his lower belly. "Fuck me, Sherlock, please...don't make me beg..." John tugged on his curls as he moaned the words.

Sherlock seemed to get the hint that time, as he slid seamlessly back up to meet John's lips and pushed a slick finger up into John, sliding fluidly up against his prostrate. Sherlock's erection pressed into John's thigh as he did so. John sighed as Sherlock added another finger and prepared him painlessly. Sherlock broke the kiss, his breath ragged and strained. John regained awareness long enough to meet Sherlock's eyes as the detective gazed down on him. "I love you, John." Sherlock breathed, needful, longing, loving. John was holding his breath without realizing it. 'I fucking love you, I'll die if I lose you..."

"Don't-" John began to argue with Sherlock's logic, but his sentence turned into a cry of pleasure as Sherlock slid within him and buried himself deep within. Sherlock's lips were parted, moist, panting as he began to love John. He poured all of his love and emotion into John as he moved within him, spilling over into their simultaneous orgasm within minutes. When Sherlock made to remove himself John embraced him and pulled him into a tight hug. Sherlock was still catching his breath but buried himself in the crook of John's neck, scars and all.

"You are not going to lose me, Sherlock. Do not allow that thought to cross your mind one more time. We are going to figure this out and that will be the end of it." John whispered into his ear as he held him close. Sherlock closed his eyes, on the verge of tears, and remained within the scent and warmth of his Dr. Watson as long as John would hold him captive.


	68. Chapter 68

John glanced over across the darkened office towards the black corner where Sherlock waited. They were inside Dr. Elvingston's office, awaiting the surgeon's arrival. He was blocked in at surgery, he was closing as of ten minutes ago. It wouldn't be long before the man entered his office and was confronted by the two men. John sighed to himself. They'd been in luck that the surgeon had delayed his holiday for the following week instead of the current one.

John watched the silhouette of Sherlock as the consulting detective pressed himself up against the corner to help shrink himself into the shadows. John himself had chosen the bookcase on the opposing wall to hide behind. His firearm was in hand and cocked, safety off. Just in case there was a scuffle. Knowing the state Sherlock was in there might well be.

Sherlock had been an emotional wreck for the hour following their union within 221B Baker Street after receiving their instructions from "The Fox". It had taken yet another round of blissful lovemaking to focus and comfort him. John had complied, without noting any bother. He loved the act with Sherlock. Their pooling of emotions into the most physical sense. He was quickly finding that he loved the genius more and more as days passed. He lived a life of adventure, daring, adrenaline. He glanced over at Sherlock once more. John wouldn't deny that he was nervous. 48 hours was not a large amount of time to discover and singlhandedly take down a black market organ donation scam. Moriarty was being taken advantage of. John wondered how that felt, to be the consulting criminal and being taken for the money you'd have brought in yourself. He imagined it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but John felt a pang of happiness that the bastard was getting a taste.

Footsteps pattered in the hallway. John stiffened, army prowess taking over. Sherlock became so still he blended perfectly into the shadows. John watched as Dr. Elvingston rounded the corner, flipping through a chart as he did so and humming some tune to himself. He didn't even bother to flip on the light, much to their advantage, as he'd probably made this nightly stroll into his office after cases many times before. John heard the surgeon gasp and then the low gutteral drone of Sherlock's voice as he calmly stated "Make no noise, lest you would like it to be your last." John had instinctively circled about, when he was able to note that Sherlock had his own firearm pressed to the back of the larger man's skull and was facing him towards the back of his office. John shut the office door, pulled the blinds, and then proceeded to flip on the office light. "Have a seat." Sherlock walked the surgeon towards his office chair and dropped the man with a hand on his shoulder into the cushioned blackness.

Dr. Elvingston was a tall, round man with a balding, shiny head and a rather long beard complete with matching sideburns. He had a gut that was hardly contained by his green surgical scrubs, and a pale pallor that John wondered was either from the fear of being taken at gunpoint or his natural color. He figured the surgeon didn't get out during the day much. "What do you want?" The man squeaked, a rather amusing sound coming from someone of his size and stature. Terror will change most things about a person when they are faced with their fear as it courses through their veins.

"I want answers, plain and simple." Sherlock began, standing off to the side now but with firearm still trained upon his head. If he pulled the trigger the bullet would most likely go right between the eyes. "We've been informed that you are assisting with a black marget organ confiscation ring and we want to know who is involved and where the base of operations is located."

Dr. Elvingston laughed but quickly thought better of it. "I don't know what you're talking about." Gunfire rang out and the man screamed. John had ducked. Sherlock had fired into the ceiling, apparently not caring that they were in the middle of a public hospital. They'd have to make this interrogation quick. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, please-" The man was whimpering and shaking now. John figured he'd probably pissed himself as well.

"Information. Now."

"It's headed up by Dickers. The accountant? He runs all the funds, I just do the dirty work of collecting potential donors and removing the organs for transport." The man was on the verge of hyperventilating now.

"Do these so-called 'donors' survive the process?" Sherlock asked, point blank. Silence.

"Most of them." Dr. Elvingston squinted as if the bullet would leave the gun at that declaration and end his life. It did not.

"You're a sickening man, doctor." Sherlock spat at him and the man flinched. "So where is the base of operations?"

"You wouldn't get in if you tried, even if I did tell you where it was." The surgeon sighed deeply, a long shuddering breath. "I'd have to bring you in." He regretted the words as suddenly as he had spoke them.

"That would be perfect." John spoke up. Sherlock glanced sideways at him but remained motionless. "He could bring me in as a donor. You could follow. You'd discover their location as well as get inside with access. Then we can do what needs done and be out."

"John," Sherlock sighed, with the known sound of one who is pleased with a child for volunteering. "That is an excellent idea but I will not allow you to be bait once more."

"It's the only way, Sherlock. We can't get Lestrade involved, they'd push the button on that bloody remote faster than you could page Scotland Yard and that would be the end of it." John watched the slightly amused curve of Sherlock's mouth fall into a frown as he stated the fact. "It's only the two of us. Use me to your advantage. I know you won't allow me to be hurt."

Sherlock seemed to consider this. Dr. Elvingston sat shivering in his seat, glancing back and forth from one man to the other. He looked over towards the door. "Alright. It seems the only option we have." He met John's eyes and smiled lovingly, momentarily allowing the surgeon to rise up out of his chair like a polar bear to attack him. Sherlock brought him down with a pistol whip and a butt of his gun to the top of the man's skull. Dr. Elvingston collapsed unconscious into the chair. "Quickly, John. Can you rig up something along the lines of what you've got attached to you so that we can keep him compliant throughout this operation?"

John smiled. He most certainly could. He left Sherlock to guard the good surgeon and headed to medical supplies to procure what he needed. He happened to pass by Molly as she walked on the way to the morgue.

"Oh! John! How nice to see you here!" Molly stated happily but also a bit confused. John was a deer caught in the headlights, an arm full of supplies clutched to his chest. "Is everything alright?"

"Come with me, Molly. I'll need access to your lab."

Dr. Elvingston came to not long after Molly and John had completed their work. The three stood back in the room and admired their work. "What the fuck..." the sleepy surgeon commented. He began to sit up, but glanced up towards Sherlock and the pointed gun and thought better of it.

"Good man. Now, you're going to help us get into your base of operations. You're going to walk John in as your donor, and you're going to leave the path clear for me to follow." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. The surgeon grimaced at the pain in his head and furrowed his brow.

"What makes you think that I'll comply? Besides the gun you've got aimed at me?" Dr. Elvingston chattered.

"That." John pointed towards the man's chest. The surgeon didn't seem to have noticed that his scrub top had been removed and a strange device made up of a strange concoction of maintenance material and medical supplies was strapped over his left chest wall. "That will ensure that you do exactly as I say if you want to live through it. Inside that syringe is a good dose of potassium chloride. Enough of that injected straight into your heart is going to stop it and you'll die an agonizing death." John crossed his arms. Molly did the same as she stood beside him. The surgeon looked from one face to the next.

"You're serious. You made this?" He pointed but refrained from touching the device.

"Oh yes. I did a little dabbling and experimenting when I was younger." Molly piped up.

"And I've got some engineering training in my army background. That thing is definitely functional." John held up the small metal remote that he'd patchworked together and tested before drawing up the fatal dose of potassium chloride into the syringe and strapping it to the man's chest. He didn't feel right about it, about holding another man's life in his hands in that way. Who knew how many people this man had butchered all for the sake of black market organ trading? Perhaps it would be justified if he had to flip that little metal switch.

"Alright." Dr. Elvingston sighed. "We will have to wait until one in the morning." He glanced at the clock up on the wall of his office. It read 11:45. "I do a usual round to the pub beside the building. That's where I do most of my picking up of donors who are inebriated." The man actually began to look somewhat guilty. "If I show up any earlier it might arouse suspicion."

"Fine. We will sit it out for another 45 minutes before you show us to the pub. You can meet him there and 'pick him up'." Sherlock stated and wandered over towards John and Molly. "So sorry to have to include you in this." He frowned at Molly.

"Glad to be of help! I'd begun to think that things had perhaps returned to normal, which is quite frankly boring." Molly grinned at the two of them. "I promise I won't tell Lestrade. At least I won't until the 48 hour mark is up. Then I'll be too concerned to hold it back. So sorry, John."

"No, no, Molly. It's fine. It has to be done this way." John smiled at her. "Thank you for your help."

Molly nodded to the two of them and left the office to head back towards the morgue and keep the hallway clear of anyone coming to pay the surgeon a visit.

"Thank gods for Molly." John sighed. Sherlock couldn't help but agree. He leaned in close to Sherlock, attempting to lighten the mood. "It'll be the first time I've been picked up in a bar by a man though, I must admit."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, amused by John's fiestiness considering the situation. "Remind me to add it to a list I've been making of new things for us to consider trying."

"You have a list?"

"Certainly."

"What's on it already?"

"What would be the point in telling you? It's much more fun to be spontaneous in these matters." Sherlock grinned. John rolled his eyes but felt that familiar tingle run through his body. Even in times of perhaps imminent death, the two could be smolderingly flirtatious. Sherlock met him with a dark, wanton gaze and John swallowed hard. The two turned back towards their captive and glanced at the clock, determined to count down the minutes until they put their plan into action.


	69. Chapter 69

Sherlock watched, unamused, drumming his fingers upon the pub table in the dankly lit pub. He glanced momentarily here and there to observe the other pub goers, but his gaze always wandered back to John Watson. He sat at the bar, sipping a pint, acting casual. They'd been in here a good twenty minutes now. Surely no suspicion would be aroused. John acted like a natural.

Sherlock's heart was racing. Even in this time of sitting still and patiently waiting, the adrenaline rushed. He wanted nothing more than to get this operation over with. John still had that infernal device strapped to his arm. What if something went wrong or it malfunctioned? He'd lose his best friend and his love. He was rattled but he dared not let it show. Not when they needed to be on their guard and at their best.

The door squeaked as Dr. Elvingston entered, changed from his surgical scrubs into a rather large polo shirt and khakis. He looked too overdressed for a dank, dark backalley pub such as this. Perhaps this is how he entices them? He reeks of money. Any man looking for a handout would be attracted to him, no doubt about it. Sherlock felt repulsed. This man wanted nothing more than to butcher these people who thought they were possibly going to be wined and dined. Does he choose only men? Or does he go for both? Sherlock shook his head, waving the thought from it. The next few minutes were going to become increasingly hard for him. He could feel it already when the man sat down next to John and ordered himself a drink.

Sherlock watched, John making it seem all completely natural, Dr. Elvingston putting on his usual show and doing a good job of it. That plays in his favor. Sherlock thumbed the makeshift remote that sat within his jacket pocket. He wanted nothing more but to press it at the moment. End this miserable man's life. Perhaps once they got inside the building he led these helpless people to he would.

The conversation seemed to have taken the turn that they had rehearsed. The doctor ordered John a drink. John made lighthearted conversation. The surgeon was leaning in, so was John. Sherlock ground his teeth with aggravation. He didn't like to see John acting so close towards another man, much the same way he felt when John had brought home the latest girlfriend. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. He felt more exasperated with the women, knowing they probably wouldn't hang around long, which suited him just fine. Sherlock came to a realization. Have I harbored these feelings for him for that long? Sherlock wondered if the feelings he'd come to know had deeper roots within his heart than he had first realized. He gazed at John, admiring him. Sherlock would never feel attraction for another person as long as he lived. As long as there was John Watson.

The surgeon's hand was roaming. It came to rest upon John's thigh. Sherlock tensed. He hated this. The remote that sat within his jacket pocket seemed increasingly more enticing. Things were moving just as planned. It seemed the surgeon had made his point and John was acting interested. The two made to get up from the bar, the surgeon throwing down money for their drinks and they left the pub, the surgeon's arm around John's waist. Bloody bastard, Sherlock seethed as he waited momentarily before leaving as well.

He followed in the shadows down the back alleyway, watching as John and the surgeon played out their routine. Sherlock pulled his gun, dropped the safety, and carried it low as he followed. They went down a backalley maze before arriving at an abandoned warehouse. Typical. Sherlock huffed. The surgeon knocked a total of four times in a pattern upon the metal steel door before he pulled a key and unlocked the door. He pushed it wide open and walked John in, seemingly inebriated at this time. Sherlock hurried and slid in before the door slammed shut.

There was nothing but darkness that took over as the door grinded to a close behind them. Sherlock switched to rely on his hearing more than his sight and moved quickly to the side as the surgeon came at him from behind. His only thought was Where's John? Did he hurt him? Knock him unconscious? The surgeon rebounded quickly, taking Sherlock by the neck and dragging him down with him to the floor to attempt to choke him out. Sherlock felt the burning within his throat as his windpipe was closed in on itself. He struggled, hoping to find the remote within his jacket before the man did.

Suddenly, there was a second pair of hands, roaming, feeling about his body. He felt the intrusion, but his hands were focused upon the man strangling him from behind as they tussled about on the dirty concrete floor. Sherlock felt something sharp slice about his side and he attempted to yell out in pain, but no sound escaped from his lips as he began to lose consciousness. Suddenly the arms were gone and there was a raspy, choking sound close to his ear. He scrambled away, looking in the direction of his attacker.

A flashlight appeared, held by none other than his John Watson. He was bending over Sherlock. "You okay?" John was concerned as he pulled him up off the floor. Sherlock answered him with a desperate, urgent kiss. Sherlock enveloped John within his arms and held him tight as he kissed him deeply. John snaked his arms about Sherlock's thin waist and pulled him in as well, feeling the warmth of his coat. Sherlock stopped momentarily to catch his breath. "Sherlock, are you okay?"

Sherlock moved to allow John to shine the flashlight down to his side where he'd felt the pain. Blood was soaking through his white shirt. John shoved the light into Sherlock's hands and ripped his shirt up out of his trousers and opened it. The surgeon had been carrying a scalpel. He'd managed to slice through a few layers of skin and some adipose, but nothing serious. Sherlock would live, at least til John could properly clean the wound back at the flat. "I'll be fine. Are you alright?"

"Yes." John sighed and kissed him softly once more. "He got me inside and then tried to overtake me but I got away. I think he figured you were the bigger threat armed than I was unarmed." John took back the flashlight and shown it down upon their attacker. The surgeon lay on the ground, eyes open, glassy, and lifeless, foam drooling out of the corner of his mouth. The hands... Sherlock put it together. John had grabbed the remote from Sherlock's pocket and quickly dispatched Dr. Elvingston for turning tail on them.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock stated. He knew that John had been in the war, but he also knew John not to be the type to enjoy taking a life.

"I've said it once, I'll say it again." John sighed as they both looked down on the dead surgeon. "He was a bad man." John nodded at Sherlock and took his hand. Together the two shown the flashlight ahead of them, aiming towards the warehouse and its enormosity, and stepping lightly into whatever trouble the building would hold for them.


	70. Chapter 70

"What exactly are we looking for here, Sherlock?" John spoke low and close to Sherlock's ear, which caused the consulting detective's hair to rise upon the back of his neck. After witnessing John's play with Dr. Erickson just less than an hour earlier, he was in a strange mood. A very lustful and territorial one. John seemed to hold some sort of power over him at the moment that was undeniable. The two held hands as they walked through the darkened building.

"There has to be some sort of office or networking setup somewhere. Unless Dickers is carrying on all that business from his own office, which is possible." Sherlock was feeling the sting of his fresh wound but continued on without showing it. He didn't want John to worry, and being a doctor, he feared John would be distracted. He distractedly touched the spot upon his shirt and felt the sticky warmness that was soaking through.

John seemed to take over, leading Sherlock with his hand as if he had some sort of sixth sense of where to go. Sherlock followed, cherishing the silence and the strength of John's grip within his hand. He was feeling a stir down below. What is this? Adrenaline? I'm going to have to take care of this once we're out of here. That thought wasn't at all disconcerting to Sherlock and he felt himself smile a little. John lead him to a metal door which they wedged open as it was hard to do so. "I think we're on the right track." John commented as their eyes adjusted to the low light within the room.

As the two entered, John let Sherlock's hand free so he could pull his own firearm that he'd hidden in the back of his jeans under his coat. Sherlock took the opportunity to draw his own as well. They split up as they came into the room with struggling, dimly lit hanging lights. Two metal slabs that could have easily been picked up from a morgue or a mortuary stood in the middle of the room. Various medical supplies and equipment dominated the shelves and all flat surfaces available to them. John noted an empty, dirty looking clawfoot bathtub within a dark corner. Perhaps they keep the bodies here within ice? Like you would see in a scary movie or something? He shivered, disgusted.

In the back part of the room Sherlock came upon a beat up laptop and he opened it. As it came on he conveniently found the files and information that Moran had appointed them to search for. Dickers accounts, passwords, names of donors and purchasers of their wares. Sherlock shook his head as he scoured the laptop for information. He glanced over and picked up a flash drive that sat close to him. He clicked it into place and began to copy the files and information over to it. John was walking about and taking everything in. "What kind of sick, sodding fuck-"

"Agreed." Sherlock mumbled, quickly pulling the flash drive out of the computer as he did so. He turned, noting a large freezer and three large fridges. He wondered. Do I dare? Curiousity overtook him and he opened the nearest fridge. Inside sat many jars and medical supply containers that held the contents of who knew how many organs. Kidneys, livers, hearts, lungs, even brains. Brain transplant? Sherlock could see why Moriarty would be interested in such a business, but to be taken advantage of by your own minion... He could see that as frustrating. He closed the door.

"Find something interesting?" John asked as he came near.

"Just body parts." Sherlock reached and felt in the dim light until he found John's free hand. He tugged. "Come. Let's get out of here. I've got everything we need." John followed obediently, trusting his companion to know the way out as they had come.

The two took a cab back and entered 221B Baker Street in a hurry. Sherlock was well ahead of John, taking the steps two at a time, his long coat flailing out behind him in a fan. John exited the stairs at the top to find him throwing papers about here and there. "Sherlock?! What are you doing?"

"I've got to find the card Moran gave us. It has the number on it." The panic within Sherlock's voice frightened John somewhat.

"I've got it here. Calm down." John pulled out his wallet and the card within. Sherlock simply stopped and stared at him for a moment. He stepped forward and took the card from John's fingertips, holding his gaze all the while. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and typed in the number and held it to his ear. There was an audible click.

"Have you what I asked for?" The voiced sounded like Moran.

"Yes. On a flash drive." Sherlock answered.

"Good. I'll meet you at the mansion at nine a.m. Not a second more."

"Nine in the morning?!" Sherlock shouted with disbelief.

"Yes, I'm quite a busy man you know. I've got other contracts besides bossing you about for the Boss. You've got plenty of time so just relax. Nine. Don't be late." Moran hung up. Sherlock stared ahead with not a sound.

"What?"

"We're too meet him in the morning." Sherlock put away the phone and began to undo his scarf.

"Oh." John sounded a bit put out but not nearly as much as Sherlock had been. "That's okay, it hasn't been near 48 hours yet, we're in the green still." John put on a happier face as he removed his own coat. He placed his firearm upon the desk with the safety on and turned to note that Sherlock was carefully removing his bloodied shirt. "Good Lord..." John came forth to examine the cut.

Sherlock watched as John placed his delicate fingers upon Sherlock's hot skin and explored the wound. Sherlock could see within his eyes the path his brain was taken. Which suture to use, which way to sew, how to preserve the skin and heal up the wound clean and pristine...Sherlock's arousal was becoming apparent. John didn't seem to notice. "It would appear that I'm in need of medical attention, Dr. Watson."

John glanced up, noting the usual up-to-no-good twinkle within Sherlock's deep tranquil sea colored eyes. "Yes, it would appear so." John led Sherlock to the bedroom and bade him sit upon the bed as he drug out his medical kit and began to rifle through it. Sherlock watched curiously. "Lay back." John asked and Sherlock did so has John climbed onto the bed with the few things he had gathered. John smirked. He knew what Sherlock was thinking. His erection straining within his trousers was all too apparent and wanting. John couldn't help but return the enthusiasm. He removed Sherlock's shoes and socks gently and then slowly began to unzip Sherlock's fly.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he watched John's hands as the pulled his pants apart at the zipper enough to show Sherlock's cock but not enough to allow it to spring free. "This is most unusual treatment for a near stab wound, doctor." Sherlock's voice was low and seductive and nearly honey coated as he spoke. John paid no attention, or at least put on that he didn't, and began to clean the wound. He concentrated as he should, his fingers flying about the laceration as he quickly and surgically closed the wound and applied the bandage. His fingers brushed near Sherlock's cock on occasion, illiciting a sigh and a grunt here and there from the detective as he watched John work. "This makes the second time I've been wounded and you've had to care for me."

"I don't mind caring for you." John answered, finally looking up and meeting Sherlock's longing eyes. "We are to be married you know. One of us has to worry about the other."

"I worry about you constantly." Sherlock stated. John found the strange echo it had of Mycroft stating this to him about his brother when he'd first become his flatmate. "Watching Erickson's hands upon you this even made my blood boil."

"Ah, so you're a jealous fiance." John chuckled, although he found it somewhat flattering. Sherlock's eyes were sad momentarily and he almost regretted saying anything to the effect of what he had. "You know, he only touched me here." John laid his soft, warm hand upon Sherlock's thigh, precisely where Erickson had had it. Sherlock's hips bucked ever so slightly. "He never touched me here..." John moved his hand closer to the inside of Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock strained and moaned softly. John's touch made him ravenous for him. "He most certainly did not touch me here either." John moved his hand softly over Sherlock's fully engorged cock and the detective moaned loudly and strained so that his cock sprung free. John looked down, smiling, admiring the effect he had upon this man. This sometimes aggravatingly hard not to love man.

"John..." Sherlock purred and placed his hands upon John's arms, pulling him down to lay on top of him and into a lovingly passionate kiss. Their tongues tangled and explored for a good long while as John moved a hand between them to stroke Sherlock ever so often. Sherlock was hard to the point of aggravation. "Please..." He groaned into John's mouth as they continued to kiss.

"I believe if I were a right doctor, I'd prescribe rest, and no strenuous activity." John whispered into Sherlock's ear as he caressed him. Sherlock's mouth purred and whimpered its objection. "Perhaps though, in the right hands..." John sat up, softly tugging Sherlock's trousers and boxer briefs from his lean hips and dropping them onto the floor. He then removed his own shirt and jeans quickly as so not to interrupt the mood. Sherlock watched him hungrily but kept quiet. He even seemed to not show the dismay of the little black strapped box upon John's arm. He'd managed to take hold of their lube as well and was already caressing Sherlock's opening with two slick and ready fingers. He slid them inside effortlessly and Sherlock bucked against them, wanting the intrusion as John brushed his most tender spot. "Just relax." John commanded as he slicked himself up as well. Seeing Sherlock so hungry and ready to be devoured only encouraged his arousal as he positioned himself, taking hold of Sherlock's legs to support them as he entered Sherlock and sunk deep inside him.

Sherlock cried out in pleasure and threw his head back. John noted the strain upon his abdomen as he did so, not caring that he had recently been wounded and repaired. John bent forward over him and shushed him softly. Sherlock met his gaze and understood. John began to move, slowly and teasingly but in just the right position to brush Sherlock's prostate with each soft thrust. Sherlock relished the sensation. He was used to the hot and heavy lovemaking that defined their passionate relationship. An outpouring of raw emotion into every kiss, bite, lick, thrust, caress, and stroke. This time, with John in control, their lovemaking was sensual, sweet, soft, and mindbogglingly sinful all at the same time. "Look." John whispered and Sherlock followed his gaze down to where John was entering him over and over at a sickeningly slow pace.

"Fucksake..." Sherlock groaned as he watched John's hardness enter him over and over. It seemed to make their lovemaking that much more intimate and exciting. They both watched moments longer. Sherlock felt the fire building, threatening to spread and consume everything within him. He looked up, noting John watching him as he moved deep within him. He didn't break the gaze, only panted, mouth open, his wanton lust pouring out through his brilliant sea foam and sky eyes into John's. It was becoming too much. Too much sensation, too much movement. The room was spinning. The fire was blazing. He laid back upon their bed and cried out John's name as he came upon his stomach and John's as well. John picked up his rhythm slightly but it wasn't long before John emptied himself into his lover and relaxed and knelt between Sherlock's legs and leaned forward to steady himself.

"Was that?" Sherlock panted.

"What? Lovemaking?" John chuckled.

"Yes. I mean...we've made love before but that..." Sherlock was still trying to gather his thoughts and consciousness.

"That is what I believe 'being intimate' is like." John stated matter-of-factly and removed himself to sit upon the edge of the bed. "Sometimes slow and steady wins the race."

"That's a fascinating analogy." Sherlock commented and John couldn't help but laugh. He leaned over and laid another lingering, long kiss upon Sherlock's lips. "Now, you really must try not to be too strenuous. A little of this when the mood calls isn't going to hurt anything."

"Agreed." Sherlock stated in his usual serious tone, but his loving gaze said something different.

John glanced at the clock. "It's nearly four. I believe we need to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before we meet Moran." Sherlock frowned as the reality of their situation sank in once more. They cleaned up and climbed back into bed. Sherlock wrapped his lengthy frame about John's as they spooned within the bed. John couldn't help but smile as he was enveloped in the warmth of his body.


	71. Chapter 71

Written whilst listening to "London Calling" from the Star Trek Into Darkness soundtrack. Endlessly. On repeat. A lot of waking tension. Feel free to pop that in while you read so you can experience the same. ;) Okay, okay. Now on with the story.

 

Sherlock and John rode together in the cab once more towards the estate that Moran had pawned off as his own. Neither spoke to each other, just watched passing scenery outside of the cab windows, fogged up by the early morning. Hands clasped on the seat between them, hard enough to turn both of their knuckles white.

"What's the plan?" John whispered. Sherlock could note the rise in John's pulse as they approached the estate. The cabbie took the turn onto the private drive quite carefully, making their approach slow and steady. Sherlock glanced at his fiance. John's face was somewhat pale. "Surely you have one. I know at times you come up with things on the spot, but considering what's at stake I'd like to think you have a plan."

"I have a plan." Sherlock answered in his deep baritone. John seemed to relax a bit. "We're going to go in and give Moran what he wants. We're going to keep our firearms within reach and well hidden unless we need to pull them. If things go south..." Sherlock stopped, reaching into his pocket and removing a small strap of leather. John looked it over as Sherlock motioned for him to remove his coat and roll up his sleeve. "This is going to have to be the only thing between us and that chemical."

John met his gaze. Sherlock was fashioning the small belt like object to John's arm, just above the device that moran had attached to him. "A tourniquet." John swallowed but seemed steady and strong in Sherlock's decision. "We'll tighten it, remove the device, and then..." Sherlock watched the thought process behind John's eyes momentarily before the light came back into them and he quickly removed a small black case from his inner jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal a small surgical set. John always seemed to have things on hand if needed. He pulled out the shiny silver scalpel and handed it to Sherlock. "Careful with that, it's got a brand new blade. You'll have to leech me."

"Leech you?" Sherlock had planned on the tourniquet, but that's as far as his nerve wracked brain had allowed him to get before John had shouted at him that it was time to go from 221B Baker Street. 

"Cut here." John motioned to right below the tourniquet. "I'll bleed out, and quite a bit I suppose but the chemical should wash out with it. Then you'll need to apply pressure and get me some medical attention." John nodded. Sherlock nodded his understanding as well. John rolled the sleeve back down over the small leather tourniquet and reapplied his jacket. He once again took Sherlock's hand as they rode once more in silence up to the front entrance of the estate. 

Moran met the two within the front hall of the mansion, unceremoniously drawing his gun and pointing it carelessly at Sherlock's head as he did so. "Prompt. I'm impressed once more. You never fail to impress." Moran sneered as he walked them out into the back of the estate. John followed, somewhat like a lost little puppy dog, trying to appear as distraught and nervous as he possibly could. It was not completely hard to act in such a way. He was petrified. He rubbed his neck without realizing he was doing it. "This way." Moran was walking the two men down into the same area that they had awoken to their realization of their captor in. They went willingly. Sherlock thumbed the flash drive within his pocket nervously.

Once inside the room, Moran closed the door and latched it, standing with his back against it. He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

"The remote." Sherlock stood, head held high. He was trying to maintain as much leverage as he could get from Moran. Moran laughed cockily.

"Always trying to gain the upper hand." Moran shook his head side to side but removed the remote from his pocket and laid it upon the table next to him. "Now." He motioned once more with his hand. Sherlock removed the flash drive from his pocket and tossed it to Moran. Moran clipped it into the computer that sat upon the desk, and took hold of the phone as well, dialing a number. He pressed a button. The ringing to the other side of the connection could be heard across the line. Moran had placed the mysterious number on speaker phone. Sherlock watched. John stood, ready to react. "Moran, are we ready to upload?" The voice on the other end was strained, clearly British, and somewhat strained. Moriarty. Sherlock felt the gooseflesh crawl across his skin. 

"Yes, Boss. I'm uploading to your connection now." Moran pressed a few buttons and turned back to his captives with a smirk. The phone was quiet for a moment. 

"Ah. Very good. Veerrry good!" Moriarty was apparently pleased. Sherlock felt a warm wash of relief flow over him. A happy nemesis was a good nemesis. "I knew ol' Sherly would come through. No one better for the job. You there?" Moriarty seemed to be speaking to him.

"Yes. You should be thanking Dr. Watson perhaps more than me, he was the one who played the part to get us inside." Sherlock turned to John. John was blushing slightly, although he couldn't pinpoint why. 

"Is that right, Johnny boy? Well done! You both never cease to amaze!" Moriarty laughed maniacally into the phone. John felt his ears may begin to bleed at a moment's notice. "And may I say congrats, in almost person, on the engagement! Perhaps if played right, it won't be a short one." Moriarty's voice dropped into monotone. "Foxy? Is the device still intact? Our clever boys haven't tried to mess with it?"

Moran strode over to John, yanking his jacket down off his arms with one strong hand as the other pointed the gun into Sherlock's face. He ripped the button from John's sleeve and yanked it up. Thankfully, John noted, he hadn't yanked it far enough up to reveal the makeshift tourniquet that rested just above said device. He examined it. "It's still on and untouched, Boss."

"Good, good, good." Moriarty was laughing once more. "Well, I suppose we should hold up our end of the deal. Moran, remove the device." Moran hesitated and then began to sullenly work upon the device. John stood, eyes closed, still and unwavering. "On second thought...." Moran stopped, looking at the phone as if his commander were standing there in person. "I'm still completely changeable. Let it alone." Moriarty's voice had taken on its usual threatening undertone. Moran backed away, resuming his place beside the desk and the door. "Perhaps since we've got a few more hours before ground zero, Sherly will do us another favor."

"We've held up our end of the deal, Moriarty. Release John." Sherlock growled towards the disembodied voice. The room went silent, tensions high.

"Moran, you know what to do." Moriarty commanded. Sherlock reacted. John merely watched everything happen in near slow motion. Moran went for the remote, pressing it as quickly as he had it in hand. The following happened within a matter of seconds.

Sherlock went for John. With lightening quickly speed he wrenched free the loose end of the tourniquet and yanked it violently upwards, tightening the tourniquet to a painful and numbing squeeze. John yelped as the device injected the chemical within his arm, as promised. He grabbed hold of it as Sherlock was tightening the tourniquet and ripped it free, tossing it aside. John opened his mouth to shout to Sherlock his next intended move but the genius consulting detective had remembered their previous conversation and had sliced open John's arm with the scalpel so quickly that John hadn't even felt the pain. John stood, arm going numb, watching the cascade of scarlet over his arm as the blood drained from below the tourniquet. He paled, beginning to feel lightheaded. Sherlock anticipated his falling out into the floor and went to catch him. Instead, John was ripped from his grip, twirled about face, and into Moran's choke hold. A syringe with a menacing needle was held in absence of his gun. Sherlock stilled.

"Moran." Sherlock stated softly, not moving. Not wanting to jolt the assassin into any rash spur of the moment movements. 

"Moran? How are we?" Moriarty chimed in from the phone upon the desk.  
"We're on to plan B, Boss." Moran growled with a snide half grin upon his face. John grappled towards his hold with his free arm to no avail. He was feeling fainter, perhaps from loss of blood. He only stared Sherlock in the eye as he held his ground.

"Ah, plan B. Always have a backup." Moriarty chided. Sherlock mentally cursed him but said nothing aloud. "Within the syringe my good fellow Moran holds is the same chemical I'm assuming did not make its way into Watson's bloodstream. Now, you're going to do one more errand for me, Sherly. And you're doing it alone. Moran here is going to babysit your lovely fiance while you carry out this task and then, only then, will I consider not killing him at the present time."

"What the bloody fuck do you want?!" Sherlock felt himself slipping. His mental capacity to handle the fact that John once more was in danger of being killed merely because he was easy leverage for Sherlock's enemies to use against him was rapidly diminishing.

"You're going to take out Dickers for me. Singlehandedly." Moriarty was smiling, Sherlock could tell. "Dead, no trace. And tonight. That's all. A simple task really."

"Moran is a trained assassin." Sherlock tried to sound confused, as to why Moriarty didn't use the resources at his disposal. 

"And you are not one to have blood on your hands. Makes it much more fun to know you're going to be the one getting your hands dirty this time." Moriarty laughed once more. Sherlock glanced at John. He was looking bleak.

"Fine, fine!" Sherlock shouted. Moran relaxed his grip somewhat.

"Sherlock...don't...it's not worth..." John stated softly before losing consciousness.

"For fuck sake, stop the bloody bleeding!" Sherlock panicked. He removed the scarf about his neck and tossed it to Moran, who surprisingly obliged and applied the pressure to Sherlock's inflicted wound. 

"I'm not a blithering idiot, Sherlock. I'll make sure your buddy boy doesn't die unless its by lethal injection." Moran hissed. He seemed offended that Sherlock would consider his letting John die before the game was up.

"I'd get a move on if I were you, Sherlock. I'm only giving you until midnight tonight to complete your task. Bring me something to let me know you've taken care of it. We'll chat soon." Moriarty finished before the phone clicked dead. Sherlock stood, chest heaving, looking at his lover passed out at Moran's feet, the scarf wrapped about the scalpel wound to his arm.

"You harm him or allow him to perish..." Sherlock pointed a hateful finger into Moran's face. The assassin waved him away, smiling ruefully as he did so as well as wiggling the syringe he still held at a threatening level to John's neck. Sherlock flew out of the room, down the halls and out into the estate driveway, where a cab had already been summoned. At least Moriarty's giving me a head start. From within the cab Sherlock pulled his phone, dialing Lestrade and putting the phone to his ear. "I'm going to need your help and possibly Molly's as well. Tonight. Meet me at the flat, I'll explain."


	72. Chapter 72

Dickers went about his normal routine this time of night. He had made sure the secretary had locked up and left, made sure that his own office doors were locked tight and that the shades were drawn. Then he would click on his computer and scroll through the bank accounts of the people he served, as well has the three Swiss bank accounts he was currently stashing a large amount of money in. He smiled to himself, allowing a sip of the glass of wine he had just poured and poured over the figures upon the screen. "Oh, Dickers. You're a rich man, and the others are none the wiser." The fat man chuckled to himself. His laughter was met with the reply of cold steel to the back of his neck.

"Evening, Dickers." The voice, deep and brooding said from behind him in an almost predatory manner. Dickers held deathly still. "I've a bone to pick with you." 

"A-alright...." Dickers swallowed silently.

"Place both your hands on the desk where I can see them." The voice growled. Dickers obliged. The cold metal disappeared from his neck and rounded into his field of vision in the hands of the man known only as Sherlock Holmes. "How's business?"

"Ah, well-"

"Nevermind. Look. It appears that you've been withholding information from me. We seem to have a common interest." Sherlock perched on the edge of Dickers desk with the gun aimed at his head. The man was sweating, pale, on the verge of vomiting Sherlock was almost sure of it.

"What would that b-be?" Dickers stuttered. Sherlock quickly dispatched any drivel from the man's mouth with a quick pistol whip. Dickers cried out and put a hand to his mouth to wipe away the blood from the scratch upon his cheek. 

"Don't be coy." Sherlock's eyes were murderous. Dickers felt he might wet himself.

"Moriarty?" Dickers asked in a high pitched, squeaky voice.

"Good man." Sherlock answered but with no hint of humor at all upon his face or in his low voice. "It would seem that your antics have wound my fiance and I in a bit of trouble. You're at the epicenter, Dickers. I've been sent to dispatch you." Sherlock stilled after he spoke. 

"Kill me?!" Dickers screeched. Sherlock released the safety from the gun. Dickers quieted instantly. 

"Yes, it would seem that way." 

"You've not killed a man before, have you, Mr. Holmes?" Dickers voice was becoming erratic and shakey. Sherlock said nothing, although he couldn't deny that the statement was true. Only John had been a dispatcher of bad men. Sherlock had come close on a few occasions, but never gone as far as to take another's life by any means. It would make sense that his soul was afire, his heart was a racing pulp within his chest, and his blood was boiling with adrenaline. It was a miracle the gun wasn't shaking about within his hand as he pointed it at the other man's head.

"Tonight's as good a night as any." Sherlock noted. Dickers gulped.

"Look, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?" Dickers laughed nervously. 

"I believe we may be able to do that. And here is how it's going to work." Sherlock cocked his head to the side. Dickers listened intently. "I've been told to dispatch you, but perhaps if you cooperate you'll merely be carrying out a sentence for your crimes of embezzlement and black market dealings." Dickers made no sound, but his eyes told the story that he was very interested in what was being said. "Moriarty has instructed that I bring him back something to prove that I've been here, with you, and that I've completed my business." Sherlock whistled. The door opened behind him, despite the locks that Dickers thought would keep him locked away from prying eyes. Lestrade strode up beside Sherlock, eyes locked upon the man that sat nearly faint with fear across the desk. "So, I'm going to bring back a momento of our visit, you're going with the Detective Inspector here to hide away until all is clear, and then you can pay for your crimes." 

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I'll do anything you ask." Dickers seemed a man happy to be escaping his ordered death sentence. Sherlock offered a hand to Lestrade, who flipped out a pocket knife and handed it to the consulting detective. Sherlock stood and admired it. Dickers face fell once more. "What's that for?"

"I need a memento, Dickers, don't be so damned idiotic. I just told you." Sherlock cleared his throat. He took hold of Dicker's right hand and held it painfully spread out upon the desk. "I believe a finger should do nicely."

"You can't do that!" Dickers screeched once more. Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock stood up straight once more, aiming the gun once more at him and cocking it.

"I can, and I will, because despite the fact that you're a worthless piece of shit, my fiance is laying up somewhere as a bleeding hostage and the only chance I have of getting close to him again is to kill you and bring back something to remind Moriarty fondly of the time he badgered his nemesis into killing another man." Sherlock was writhing internally with anger. Lestrade watched him carefully.

"Scotland Yard is going to allow this?!" Dickers looked from one man to the other. Lestrade raised an eyebrow and shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh dear god..." Dickers was shaking now.

"What's it going to be, Dickers? I worked out this nice deal for you so that I can keep my conscience somewhat intact. I could just as easily complete my task with a bullet." Sherlock's face was an emotionless mask, but inside he felt the sickening turns his stomach was taking.

"Fine, fine. I'll take the deal!" Dickers was crying now, fearful of the pain that was to come soon. Sherlock holstered his gun quickly, flipped open the blade, and unceremoniously separated Dickers ring finger from his right hand. The fat man screamed and flailed his free hand. Lestrade tossed the man a towel from his own bathroom to apply pressure. 

"Good choice." Sherlock stood, collecting the finger, along with the crested ring that rested upon it, and dumped it in a baggie he'd had in his coat pocket. He nodded to Lestrade as the police force entered to take the man away. Dickers shied away from Sherlock as they escorted him out. Sherlock looked once more at Lestrade. "Thank you."

"Much obliged. I think a finger is a small price to pay." Lestrade looked grim, but confident in his support of Sherlock's plan. "Would you really have just marched in here and killed him, Sherlock? If you hadn't contacted me?"

"I believe I would have, if that's the only choice I had." Sherlock frowned. Lestrade placed his hands upon his hips. 

"So, what now? How can you be sure that Moriarty doesn't know that you contacted me?" 

"I'm under the impression that Moriarty isn't in a position currently to see and know all. He has his man, Moran, to do his business, but Moran is only one man and currently he's tied up with John."

"That's where we're headed now?"

"Yes. I'll put in the call to Moran and return to the estate. I'll try to stall and see if I can locate John, I'll give you the signal, and then you can assume responsibility for whatever it is that happens next." Sherlock started out of the office and through the building. Lestrade hurried behind.

"Alright. Wait, what signal?" 

"You'll know."

"I'm sure I will." Lestrade sighed, but strode to his police car and got in, giving orders to his officers and pulling away. Sherlock hailed a cab, and directed it towards Moran's estate.

Sherlock entered the estate with gun drawn and safety off. He had made the call to Moran while within the cab and was directed to meet him in the same area that they'd been in twice already before. Sherlock pushed open the creaking door and entered on alert. Moran sat on the edge of the seat across the room and watched Sherlock enter the darkened room with a smirk. "Well, well. That was quick work."

Sherlock aimed the gun at Moran, but seeing the man was not aiming, lowered it slightly. He glanced about the room. "Where is John?"

"Dr. Watson is safely indisposed. No worries. I stopped the bleeding." Moran rose and chuckled.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing, merely gave him the first aid he needed." Moran's face fell and became serious. "Do not think for one minute that I do not have him in a position to be disposed of." Moran removed a similar remote from his pocket and held it up. He didn't have a syringe to John's neck, but noting the effectiveness of the last device strapped to Watson's arm, Sherlock could take no chances. "Let's get Boss on the line again, shall we?" 

Moran strode over and Sherlock circled back away from him, noting placement of the open door and Moran as he did so. Moran dialed the phone and placed it on speaker. "Back already?" Moriarty's maniacal voice echoed about the room.

"It would seem so, Boss."

"Where is the proof, Sherly?" Moriarty asked. Moran turned and crossed his arms about his chest. Sherlock removed the baggie and tossed it towards the assassin, who caught it and held it up.

"It would appear he's brought us back Dickers finger." Moran was amazed as he admired the body part in the dim light of the computer screen that sat beside the phone. Sherlock merely watched Moran.

"A finger? How do we tell if it's Dickers?" Moriarty mocked. 

"The ring should be of some symbolism, if you knew the man." Sherlock groaned. "Perhaps you have the technology in this dusty old mansion to pull a print?" Sherlock mocked back at his enemy.

"Brilliant! Moran, you heard the man." Moriarty barked suddenly at his minion. Moran seemed surprised at the noted change in tone, but quickly removed the finger and proceeded to place it tip down on some device connected to the computer. A few clicks of the mouse and the print appeared to match another upon the screen. Moran clicked a few more buttons.

"Sending you the print scan now, Boss." Moran pulled out his phone, snapping a photo, and tapping away upon it, seemingly sending the picture to Moriarty as well.

"Ahhh....I see. It most definitely belongs to our dear friend Dickers." Moriarty was solemnly quiet for a moment. "But a finger is a small price to pay. Why bring this back instead of, oh say, his head?" Moriarty's insanity could be felt within his voice as it reverberated about Sherlock's ears. Sherlock winced. Nails on a chalkboard was comparably better.

"I was in a hurry to be gone. I'm not a trained assassin as your friend Moran here is. The shots rang out, sirens were blaring closer, so I only had enough time to take a finger than attempt to saw through the man's neck with a pocket knife." Sherlock hoped the story made some sense. He was under a lot of pressure and the questions hadn't been that obvious before he'd gone in.

"Hmmm, that's plausible. You can't be good at everything I suppose. Smart man to grab an identifiable piece of flesh in such a hurry. Bravo!" Moriarty laughed. "Alright, alright. Well, with the money in my accounts where it belongs, as well as the man responsible dead by your hand...I believe all in all its been a fun few days!" Moriarty stated. Moran watched the phone as if it were Moriarty incarnate. "Fine, fair enough. I can be a man of my word. Moran, show him to his lover boy. Oh, and Sherlock? You'll be hearing from me soon enough. Moran will get his chance at you soon." Moriarty finished and the phone clicked off. Sherlock breathed a sigh of somewhat relief and hoped that Moran hadn't heard it as it left his lungs.

Moran seemed miffed. "Come." He exited the door, leading Sherlock down a few halls and into another room in which John was laid upon a couch. His shirt was off, his arm bandaged, a similar box strapped to John's opposite arm. 

"Take that off him." Sherlock shouted at Moran. Moran stood, not liking Sherlock's tone. 

"Oh? And what if I don't? I'm sure Boss wouldn't mind it if I 'accidently' pressed this button and killed your friend. One less of you to deal with." Moran held up the remote and made to press it. Sherlock went in for the attack, although he fired into the air twice before he brought the gun down on Moran's head. He hoped that Lestrade got the signal. Moran recovered from the blow miraculously, forgetting the remote in his anger momentarily and swinging at the detective with his free hand. The tuffle was on, Sherlock and Moran locked themselves in a physical struggle, Sherlock attempting to stall long enough for Lestrade's men to get inside the estate and get at the assassin. Moran brought his knee into Sherlock's groin and a fist up in an upper cut that knocked Sherlock to the floor. Moran scuffled out towards the door, Sherlock aimed and fired recklessly at the man, hitting the assassin in the shoulder. Moran yelled out in pain and anger and, right before Sherlock's very eyes, pressed the button on the remote.

Sherlock screamed out "No!" As he witnessed this, and turned quickly to pull himself out of the floor and race towards his Dr. Watson. John lay still unconscious upon the couch. He grasped the black box like device and ripped it from John's arm, flinging it towards Moran as he did so. When he turned, still yelling out in his despair, Lestrade and a hand full of armored police poured into the room. Lestrade hurried up to the two of them.

"Sherlock, what's happened?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock was frantically checking John. His pulse was slow and somewhat weak, but still there. He felt along the old scars of his incisions and up towards his neck. To where the piece of shrapnel still nestled within John's tissue. He waited and watched, ignoring Lestrade. Lestrade wandered over to retrieve the remote and the device that lay somewhat shattered upon the floor. He examined it. "Was this what you were talking about? Bloody hell..." Lestrade's finger slipped, pressing the remote button. The device made some sort of diabolical metallic noise and Lestrade dropped it in surprise. Sherlock turned, noting the noise.

"Did it just fire? Just now?"

"I think so, holy fuck!" Lestrade was shaking his head in disbelief. The police crowded around. He ordered a few to obtain the device but to be careful and bag it for evidence.

"Then that would mean..." Sherlock turned back towards John, feeling the relief wash over him in waves. "It didn't inject him. He's safe." Sherlock collapsed upon John's naked chest as the realization took hold.

"Thank gods..." Lestrade came over to help Sherlock up. He turned to his crew. "Oy! Hurry up now! We need to get one to St. Bart's for medical attention!" He barked and turned back to pat Sherlock upon his shoulder. "Bloody well done, Sherlock. You've caught us another criminal and saved John. Well. Again." Lestrade snickered, obviously relieved as well.

"What about Moran?" Sherlock inquired.

"Man must have slipped away while you were busy tending to John." Lestrade shook his head.

"Another day then." Sherlock seethed before turning back to John and taking his limp hand within his own. 

Sherlock never left John's side, awaiting for him to regain consciousness. Even as the ambulance team came to take him away, Sherlock attended to his every need as they left the estate, never, Sherlock hoped, to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter in Sherlock and John's exciting story ending. But not this fic! Next chapter, wedding planning in full swing with lots of Moriarty aggravation! Hope you are as excited as I am. Will Moriarty allow them to get as far as the aisle?
> 
> Please please please please review......because it makes me happy and makes me wanna write more sappy, fluffy, Johnlock smut with storyline. :) Johnlock next chapter. Promise!


	73. Chapter 73

"What do you think?" Molly asked as she stepped out of the bathroom and admired herself in the long mirror upon her bedroom wall. Lestrade sat on the bed, leaning forward with knees casually on elbows, watching as Molly twisted and turned about and looked over her reflection. Molly was wearing a rather form fitting lavender dress that accentuated every curve and came short of the tops of her knees. Her black velvet pumps accentuated her calfs, thighs, and bottom nicely, Lestrade couldn't help but notice.

"Lovely." Lestrade smiled as he looked her over. The hunger was slowly beginning to awaken within him as he watched her turn and twist. She played with her long locks, primping and allowing them to spill haphazardly over her shoulders. "I think it's perfect."

"Really?" Molly turned and gave Lestrade her gleefully cheerful smile. She ran her hands down her body, smoothing the dress once more. Lestrade gulped. "You don't think it's too..."

"Too what? It's beautiful on you." Lestrade stood, taking Molly's hands in his own, pulling her in for a loving peck upon her forehead. Molly closed her eyes and smiled as he laid his lips upon her.

"That's good, because I nearly spent half my week's pay on this bit." She stepped back, still holding his hands in hers. "I'm not one to wear heels either." Molly admired the pumps upon her feet, twisting and turning them this way and that. She felt giddy for having a reason to dress up. Ever since she and Lestrade had become an item she had taken to worrying over her appearance more, even though she really hadn't needed to. Lestrade loved Molly for her personality, her kindness, her quirkiness, and her natural beauty. He couldn't care less if she dressed in flannel pajamas every day. The opportunities she took to really dress up though he couldn't help but agree were moments locked away in memory to fantasize about at a later time. "Have you gotten your tux?"

"Yes. I left the tailor as I was coming over here." Lestrade smiled. Wedding planning was in full swing and everyone was having to scurry about and get things settled within the next two weeks. After Sherlock and John's close call at the mansion with Moriarty's assassin, the boys had opted to speed things along. It simple couldn't wait any longer. 

"Good. Now, if you'll just help me out of this dress." Molly turned, allowing her back to Lestrade and lifting her long hair up so he could reach the zipper. Lestrade came close, one hand comfortingly upon her hip, the other taking hold of the black zipper and sliding it slowly down her back to the higher curve of her bottom. The hunger was raging within him now. He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck, working his way softly about the flesh to the curve where neck meets shoulder. Molly sighed. She loved the softness with which Lestrade always approached her. He radiated love and longing and Molly soaked it up like a neglected sponge. If there had been any man to make her forget her fascination with Sherlock Holmes, it was Lestrade. He was pressing his body against her now and she could feel his excitement begging against the restraints of his clothing. 

Molly took hold of both of the shoulders of the dress and slid it slowly off, revealing her porcelian skin beneath. This dress required no bra. It was most risque for her taste, but she liked how it made her feel; slinky, sexy, exposed, voyeuristic. Lestrade inhaled deeply as he viewed Molly in nothing but black heels and her jewelry. She'd chosen to go with the big sparkly hoop earrings she usually reserved for holidays and special occasions and the cascading raindrop collar necklace that caught every faucet of light that bounced about the room. It had been a gift from Lestrade on their fifth date. Molly leaned in against him, watching as his arms slid around her waist, one up high to rest just beneath her breasts, the other venturing lower and stroking her slowly. She sighed as he worked his fingers about her. She allowed him to touch her up until he slid a finger up inside of her. 

Molly turned, pulling Lestrade up against her by his tie as she backed up against the wall. Their lips met hungrily as he removed his shirt and she made quick work of his belt. "Molly...lord..." He groaned as her hands found their way inside of his trousers and took hold of his want for her. She stroked him as they explored each others mouths with eager tongues. His hands went from resting lightly upon her hips to balancing himself on either side of her on the wall. He was having to come up for air often. He was nearly panting with desire. She pushed the trousers and boxers off of his hips and took hold of his hand, lowering it once more down below to feel that she was ready for him. 

Lestrade got the hint. He took hold of her by her slender waist and lifted her, allowing her to wrap her legs about him as he slid into her. She gasped as he filled her up completely. Lestrade moved within her, unable to hold himself back from the velvety tightness of her. She came and clenched around him only moments before he followed her lead. Lestrade held her up against the wall, embracing her and breathing heavily. Molly buried her face up against his cheek as she came down from her orgasmic high. "I really like your dress...but I believe I enjoy what's beneath it more." Lestrade mumbled against her. She smiled and laid a kiss upon his cheek as he lowered her back down to earth.

Sherlocked groaned as the phone upon the bedside table began to ring once more. He picked it up, took note of the number, and flipped the switch to silent before placing it face down back onto the nightstand. "Who are you deliberately ignoring?" John yawned as he rolled over in the bed and onto his back. Sherlock shifted as well, an arm about John's abdomen as he snuggled in closer.

"Lestrade." Sherlock sighed and settled back, hoping to catch a few more minutes of sleep. John glanced down at him and smiled. He wanted to reach up and ruffle Sherlock's dark curls with his hand, but resisted.

"You know, you don't have to give up cold turkey."

"Yes, I do." Sherlock raised his head and met John's gaze. John held it, smile still upon his face. Sherlock returned it. Sleepy, hazy, morning exchange of happiness. "We've a wedding in two weeks, lots to do before it approaches, and there's no time to risk danger and possible dismemberment before then. Lestrade has the whole of Scotland Yard at his disposal. He doesn't need me." Sherlock laid his head back down. John shook his slightly. Sherlock had decided upon John's released from St. Bartholomew's after their scrape with Moran, that there would be no more consulting. Well, no actually physical consulting on scene. He'd take a call from Lestrade here or there, a text message, a picture on his phone, and reply. John had been nearly overjoyed, glad to get the attention from Sherlock and the much needed break. Then again, as he glanced down at Sherlock as he lay across him he felt a little pang of guilt. Sherlock needed the brainwork. He enjoyed visiting the scenes and helping solve the cases. Proving how clever he really was. To give it up almost completely just didn't seem fair.

"It doesn't always involve possible dismemberment." John smartly remarked. Sherlock huffed, and John's smile widened. "Perhaps its the danger and your genius crime solving that do it for me, ever consider that?"

Sherlock sat up and looked at John, his arm still about his abdomen, his brow creased with an unreadable expression. "You're joking."

"What if I'm not?" John's smile faded to seriousness. Sherlock was trying to read him. John was wondering if he'd possibly gotten any better at hiding any clues for Sherlock to see. 

"If you want danger, you know I can most definitely provide it." Sherlock stated with a straight face. John said nothing, questioning in his head what exactly that comment meant.

"How's that?"

"Isn't it a little early in the morning for all of this?" 

"Oh, well, we can most certainly change the subject. Apologies." John countered. Sherlock's creased brow deepened. John fought the urge to chuckle. He was winning this time, he could feel it.

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

"Why are you being so utterly frustrating?" Sherlock sighed, exasperated. He leaned over the bed and began to rummage around underneath it. John glanced as the sheet slid off of Sherlock and revealed his toned torso and the curve of his ass. John couldn't resist. He had been having feverishly exciting dreams all night after the previous nights romp and the opportunity was too good to pass up. He moved his hand and rested it upon Sherlock's bottom. The detective stopped moving for a moment, but then slowly continued as if the action didn't bother him. He knew that he was beginning to grow hard, and Sherlock could surely feel it, but said nothing. 

"What is it you're looking for?"

"You'll see." Sherlock said, somewhat muffled by his position on the bed. John removed his hand, tongued a finger, and replaced his hand, the finger precariously between Sherlock's cheeks, beginning to trace lazy circles around his opening. Sherlock tensed, his erection beginning to fill out. "Is this some sort of contest?"

"Would you like it to be?" John was being as irritating as he could be, but couldn't help himself. Sometimes getting Sherlock horny and riled up at the same time made for explosively satisfying sex. 

"You'd better hope I don't find what I'm looking for before you-" Sherlock grunted. He was obviously becoming too worked up to care about whatever it was he was searching for. John continued his tease. 

"Well, if you'd actually get up to get to it then maybe you'd stand a better chance. Perhaps you want me to win so you're faking laziness." John smiled ruefully. Sherlock brought his hands back up, pushing himself up onto his knees, presumably to climb off of the bed and find what it was he was searching for. John took the opportunity to slid his slick finger up inside Sherlock and hit his sweet spot point blank. "Fuck!" Sherlock inhaled. He didn't move, only allowed John to continue. John did not disappoint. 

"You haven't seen utterly frustrating yet, I'm afraid. I am Dr. John Hamish Watson, and I am intensely stubborn." John added as he slid another finger up inside his lover. He relished the look of pleasure that had taken the place of the seriousness on Sherlock's face. "And if you're willing to admit that you'll let me have this one, you're more than welcome to situate yourself on my cock and have your way with me."

"That's hardly- hunghhh-" Sherlock was suddenly at a loss for words as John prepared him. To add insult to injury, if it could be called that, John reached up with his other hand and took hold of Sherlock raging hard on and began to stroke it firmly. Sherlock's skin was flushed with excitement. "-Me having my way with you..."

"How so? Use me to your satisfaction." John was also fighting the urge to not turn Sherlock's fine frame towards him and pound into him relentlessly. He took his hand from Sherlock's cock and wrapped it around his own, beginning to move up and down the length of it and drawing Sherlock's attention downwards to it. "Go on then." John couldn't help it. The last part had come out breathlessly. Sherlock's hips bucked against John's fingers that stroked inside of him and John withdrew them. Sherlock was quick to straddle John, leaning down to kiss him and rutting against John as he did so. John drank him in, loving him, running his hands about Sherlock's lean body. He took hold of his cock once more, holding it in position to allow Sherlock to sink down onto it, and Sherlock obliged. 

Both men moaned as Sherlock impaled himself upon John's cock. The warm tightness of Sherlock was nearly too much. John had gotten himself too worked up in the process of flirting with and teasing his lover. John made to begin his thrusts but Sherlock laid both hands upon John's chest and began to move upon John in slow, deep movements. John's hands came to rest upon Sherlock's ass has he moved and he squeezed as he felt the movement of Sherlock's body upon his own.

John took the moment to glance up at Sherlock as they made love. Sherlock's eyes closed, head thrown back, the unmistakable look of ecstasy upon his face. He was enjoying himself and it was making John unbearably hot watching it. He took hold of Sherlock's cock once more and began to vigorously pump in rhythm to Sherlock's motions. The detective sighed and sped up, the sensations mixing to push him further towards climax. "Fuck, Sherlock..." John muttered. He wondered if he'd be able to last long enough for Sherlock to get off before him. It was definitely a contest now. 

Sherlock began to move further up and down on John's cock, his muscles becoming tighter, his movements faster as he neared orgasm. John squeezed harder upon Sherlock's ass, bringing him in closer and as deeply as Sherlock moved on top of him. His hand flew quickly up and down Sherlock's cock until he finally emptied himself upon John's chest with a cry. Thank gods....was the last clear thought that flew across John's mind before he spasmed and emptied himself deep within Sherlock. "Holy fuck..." John muttered. Sherlock sat upon him, hands still resting upon John's chest, catching his breath, a smile of satisfaction upon his face. His curls were drenched with sweat and plastered here and there upon his forehead.   
"Agreed." Sherlock breathed and moved to lay beside John. They lay together, naked upon the bed. John's hand wandered over and took hold of Sherlock's. Their fingers interlocked and they squeezed tightly. 

"I love you, Sherlock." John was the first to say it. He'd become slightly serious once more as they both stared at the ceiling.

"I love you too, John." Sherlock moved his head to gaze at John. John met his gaze. Sherlock winked moments later and rose out of the bed. "Be glad I didn't find what I was searching for. But come to expect the unexpected, John Watson. You want the thrill of imminent danger, and you shall have it. Although it could become quite intoxicating." Sherlock smiled as he pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it about him. "I'm going to make coffee. I suggest you join me. Mrs. Hudson's expecting you to return those brochures to her with some choices before the afternoon."

"Bloody hell..." John threw his head back down onto the pillow. "I'd almost forgotten. Can you not decide on anything? Not the photographer? Not the catering? I've got to do it all?" John reluctantly sat up and ran his hands through his sandy hair. Sherlock popped his head back into the bedroom. He looked a bit comical, all wrapped up in the sheet as he had it. 

"It's a fairytale wedding, John. I want it to be everything you want it to be." Sherlock smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. "At least photographer and caterer today, John. Then I'm sure she'll be satisfied until tomorrow. She'll make all the arrangements." He called from the kitchen.

John raised an eyebrow. Couldn't argue with that. It was only a wedding. How hard could it be? He stood, naked and slowly walked to the bathroom to pop into the shower.

"A fairytale wedding it shall be, Dr. Watson. I'll help you make sure of that." The man chuckled as he removed the ear piece from his ear and laid it upon the desk. "Moran."

Moran entered the room. "Yes, Boss." He asked and looked towards his employer eagerly.

"We've got quite a bit of planning to do ourselves. But first..." Moriarty stood and approached Moran with devilish intent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrolly! Johnlock! I hope that you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it. It had been too long. I promise more storyline next chapter. I just had to get some smexy time out of the way.
> 
> Opinion time: I recently got a review that stated I should do a chapter on MorMor....what are your thoughts? Should I add the sadistic, dark, sexy side of the consulting criminal and his right hand man into the picture? If you think that would be a good idea, I've got some plans to tie it in. If you think it would be better as a separate fic, I can arrange that too. Let me know what you think, please.
> 
> Next chapter, John decides on a photographer. Also, Lestrade and Mycroft push for a press release for Sherlock's return from the dead. Little do they know how much trouble this could actually create for our boys. ;) 
> 
> Please, review, I love them. They make me happy and as always, I enjoy hearing your ideas of what you'd like to see! I've been talking to a fellow reader about some of the upcoming plot line and I know you are all going to find it very interesting!
> 
> Also, to the guest who commented and reminded me about Sherlock's revelation of his middle name, John will most definitely get it out of him. And have a fun time doing so. :)
> 
> As always, thank you so very very much for sticking with me and urging me to write on through 73 chapters with many more to come! I love you all!!!!


	74. Chapter 74

I apologize for waiting so long to post another chapter....my computer broke down and I could not bear to type 2,000 word stories with two fingers on my damnable iphone. That being said...

 

"Boys! Boys!" Mrs. Hudson was shouting up the steps to the flat from below, most likely to prepare them for her imminent ascension. With the boys so involved in each other the last couple of days she would have hated to have walked in on something she didn't really want to see. John was throwing on his jumper and fixing his hair from being recently showered. "Good lord what is she shouting about?" Sherlock asked with obvious exasperation from within the shower. John snickered. 

"Just a warning shout I'm sure." John answered. He saw his reflection in the mirror as being adequate and made to turn and leave but Sherlock caught his arm as he leaned wet and naked out of the shower and pulled John into a kiss, of which followed a wink and an up to no good twinkle in his eye. "No time for another go around, Sherlock. The caterer is going to be here any minute, and you refuse to help me with picking anything out." John sighed. He really found the idea of doing all of the preparations himself within the next two weeks, although he understood why Sherlock was allowing him to take control. 

Sherlock gave John puppy dog eyes. John sighed and slumped his shoulders. "What if I help you to pick the caterer? You've interviewed three already, as I seem to remember. We'll interview this next one and I'll help you decide. Will that make you feel better?"

"Just so you can get me in bed again?" John asked, faking being appalled. Sherlock looked taken aback.

"Well, it's always a plus, but no, not just that. To ease your mind. Because I care for you." Sherlock's face was a picture of sincerity. John felt a little flutter of his heart at the sound of it. 

"If you decide on the catering, and if you choose your best man for the wedding, then I will cater to you directly afterwards." John winked this time, a smile forming on his face as he left the bathroom and a contemplating Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson topped the stairs at about the same time that John was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Ah, good morning, Mrs. Hudson." John smiled and embraced her one armed as she came into the kitchen.

"So glad you're up! Busy day, dear. Where's Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson was all aflitter with excitement. She'd scheduled John and Sherlock's day to help rush things along. 

Sherlock stuck his head out around the corner, hair still wet, and smiled. "Almost ready." He shook his head like a wet dog shaking off water and caused Mrs. Hudson to fuss, which obviously amused the both of them. John tried to hide his laughter but found it hard.

"Well hurry it up! Mr. Brandson will be here any minute!" Mrs. Hudson called after Sherlock. A pounding could be heard on the door. "Oh! That must be him!" Mrs. Hudson hurried past and down the stairs to answer the door. John sipped his coffee quietly as he listened for the downstairs door to open. Mrs. Hudson sounded excited but the familiar sound of Lestrade's voice told him it wasn't their morning appointment. 

It wasn't long before Lestrade and Molly topped the stairs and entered the flat. "Ah, John! Good morning to you! We were just popping by to see if you'd gotten the invitations picked yet?" Molly smiled brightly and embraced John as he stood to greet them. Molly had been an enormous help in helping to pick things for the wedding, although she was also making sure it was entirely John's decision and not something suggested. She looked healthy and bright and her usual chipper self. She was happy, and John knew it was Lestrade that was so good for her lately. Lestrade leaned in and shook John's hand. 

"Yes, believe it or not, Molly I did." John set down his cup and hurried over to the desk to unearth the stationary and envelopes he'd picked. He handed them to her and she looked them over. Cream background with lavender embossed writing. He'd even written out what he wanted them to say. Molly read aloud "Join us as we marry two brilliant hearts and minds in everlasting love and devotion. Dr. John Hamish Watson and..." She stopped. "Sherlock's middle name is missing." John chuckled. "Well, that's not very proper is it?" Molly was disgruntled.

"Let's just say I'll have to torture it out of him if I ever want to know what it is." John commented just as Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, buttoning the top of his white shirt, his curls newly ruffled but drying. John turned and observed him, knowing the consulting detective had caught at least that sentence of the conversation. As he neared the group his eyes were afire with knowledge of what he'd promised John and the upcoming fulfillment of that promise. "Sherlock Holmes is well enough for invitations. That's how he's known anyway." 

Molly shrugged and returned to her smile. "They're a beautiful choice, John." Molly placed the stationary in her purse to turn in and in turn get invitations printed for the couple. "I hope we weren't bothering you. The shop gave me a deadline if we're to get these printed and sent out in time."

"No bother. I needed to ask you something anyway, Molly." John stated and cleared his throat. Molly's smile faded a bit, as if she was always expecting bad news from one or the both of them. "I don't really have anyone for a best man due to the fact that Sherlock would be the best man but he's the one I'm marrying..." John was stuttering on and frustrated that he was sounding so nervous in asking. "I was hoping that perhaps you'd be my best woman instead and walk me down?"

Molly blushed and her mouth opened in a small O of surprise. She seemed to be holding her breath momentarily. Lestrade smiled and placed a hand upon the small of her back to anchor her. "Oh, John...are you sure? You wouldn't want, maybe Harry to do that?"

"I'm closer to you than I am to my sister, Molly." John smiled. "And its my choice of who I'd like and you are one of my closest friends."

"I'd love to, John. Thank you." Molly threw her arms about John's neck and hugged him close. John returned it. He could think of no better choice to accompany him on their special day. Molly wiped a few tears from her eyes as she stepped away. Lestrade continued to smile. 

Sherlock stepped forward suddenly and held out his hand to Lestrade. Lestrade wrinkled his brow in confusion for a moment and then proceeded to accept it and shake it. "I would like to ask that you, Greg, would accept the position as my best man as well." Sherlock stated this in all seriousness, and John couldn't help but grin sheepishly at the way Sherlock said Greg, as it sounded very unnatural escaping his lips.   
Lestrade stood and continued to shake Sherlock's hand in a bit of shock but soon the smile was back upon his face and he pulled Sherlock into a bro hug and clapped him on the back. "I'd be honored, mate." Lestrade grinned from ear to ear. Perhaps the notation that he was Sherlock's choice for such an important position affirmed to Lestrade that they were indeed somewhat friends. John felt happy, he couldn't deny it. 

Mrs. Hudson popped in most suddenly and startled the happy, somewhat tearful group. "Sorry to be a bother but Mr. Brandson is here!" She looked overly enthused. John sighed, not wanting to sit through yet another interview with another overeager caterer. 

"Send him on up then." John called. She disappeared. 

"We'll just be going then." Lestrade started and took Molly's hand as they turned to leave.

"No, no. Please stay. I think we could all enjoy a little free sampling. Unless you all have something you have to do." Sherlock piped up. All three stared back at him, as it was most unusual for Sherlock to be so accomodating. 

"I suppose we could." Molly glanced up at Lestrade, who smiled and nodded. "I'll just put on some tea, if that's okay." Molly removed her coat and handed it to Lestrade, heading towards the kitchen to do exactly that. Lestrade put their coats away and took a seat at the desk.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Hudson led Mr. Brandson into the flat. He was a tall man with reddish hair and a very thin build, not unlike Sherlock's. He was a very proper man, offering his hand and introducing himself. He handed them both a business card. "Thank you so very much for having me." He stated with a smile that seemed sincere and comforting. John relaxed a little. The last three caterers had been a nightmare. The first was a squirrely short fat man who seemed to need some type of bipolar medication, the second ran his business out of his small flat on the lower end of town and had no actual business, and the third had been far too pricey for John's simple tastes. This man seemed to be in no rush, not overexcited, somewhat proper and business-like, and actually owned a business. The group sat. "I've brought my team and some samples if I may be so kind." Mr. Brandson offered.

"Oh! Please do." John answered, actually getting a bit excited about this taste test instead of dreading it like the first three. He hadn't eaten anything, only had a few sips of coffee before all the company came rolling in. Sherlock sat next to him, secretly sliding his hand upon John's knee under the desk and giving it a small loving squeeze. John smiled a bit wider. 

Brandson rose, signalling down the stairs to someone. Up came two men and two women in professional white chef uniforms. With them they brought many silver platters worth of foods. When set in front of the two to be married and their lids lifted, John could see the array of cakes, cookies, meats, side dishes, and everything he could have ever asked for placed in front of him. The smell of the food was making his mouth water. Sherlock was watching him curiously. "Shall we?" Brandson asked and motioned towards the samples. "You may try as well if you like." He stated to Lestrade and Molly. The four took hold of the samples, tray after tray and spoke among themselves. 

Four bites in to a delicious molten chocolate lava cake John faltered. "Okay, I must say that all of your food is exquisite, Mr. Brandson. But I'm afraid of what your prices are. So before I go any further, lay it out for me." 

"My prices are reasonable, I assure you, Dr. Watson." The man pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "About how many are we looking to serve? What time of day? And location." He watched John intently, ready to write.

"Um, I'd say we're doing at least a hundred seatings. Evening, and here in London." John answered. The man took to scribbling upon the paper. 

"Are we doing open bar?"

"Sure." John answered. He wanted to know the entire kit and caboodle. Brandson scribbled a bit more, circled a number and slid it across the desk towards the two men. John stared at it in disbelief. Sherlock's eyebrows raised, impressed. "You're joking. For this culinary excellence and that amount of people you would only charge that?" John was in awe.

"Yes, sir. I pride myself on my work and my low prices. Therefore, perhaps if you are impressed with my services, you will be willing to hire me for more events and even spread the word of your satisfaction, if that be it." Brandson smiled and sat back in the chair. John glanced at Lestrade and Molly. Thumbs up there. He turned and glanced at Sherlock. 

"What do you think?" John asked. He wondered if Sherlock would follow through. Sherlock met his gaze, connecting for a moment. He then turned to Brandson and extended his hand. Brandson took it with a widening smile.

"I believe you are hired." Sherlock grinned half heartedly at the ginger man as they shook.

"Wonderful." 

"If you can pass a full security and background check." Sherlock's face returned expressionless.

"No problem." Brandson nodded, smile still upon his face. 

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade, who was giving him a rather strange face. "Lestrade will handle your details personally. We can never be too careful." Sherlock answered. Lestrade shrugged, as if, hell, why not? And took another bite of the pastry he'd been sampling.

"Brilliant!" John said, overjoyed to be through with making yet another decision. 

"I look forward to your business. I'll just take down the details and I'll have my staff get right onto it." Brandson stood, smoothing out his suit. The men stood as well. 

"We appreciate it." Sherlock stood and showed him to the stairs. The man's team followed. After he'd gone out the door, Sherlock turned with a smile. "Not so bad, that decision."

"Agreed." John answered, wanting nothing more than to prove to Sherlock that he approved of his catering decision. It could wait, there were plenty of hours in the day for him to show his approval.

"Have you given any more thought to the interview, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as he finished his morsel. 

"Gods, Lestrade. I keep telling you I'm not sure it's a good idea. A magician doesn't reveal their tricks." Sherlock's face soured as he walked through towards the kitchen to grab a cup of tea.

"It'd be a good source of revenue while you're not doing cases."

"You've never paid me for a case."

"What if I were to offer to do so?" Lestrade asked. The room went quiet. Molly and John both stared at Sherlock as the man stopped pouring his tea and leaned against the cabinet, deep in thought. John wondered what exactly was flying through his mind at the moment. 

"I told you I can't do that anymore." Sherlock answered, but he looked solemn as he did so. 

"Sherlock," John stood and took him by the arm, motioning to the other two to wait a moment. He pulled Sherlock into their bedroom and shut the door. "Consider this, please."

Sherlock sighed. "I promised you I wouldn't. You are the only thing I need to occupy my time now, John. I can't afford to lose you at the hands of some criminal again." Sherlock stared into John's eyes, the sincerity and fear of losing John apparent within them.

John placed his hands on Sherlock's tall, lean shoulders and whispered to him softly. "Look. You enjoy this, you've said it before. It keeps your brain busy, you enjoy it. I never wanted you to give it up completely, just maybe slow down on it a bit. This way you still can do it, save lives, serve justice. Figure out the puzzles and prove you're clever. Just a little at a time. I'm okay with that." John stated. Sherlock watched him, looking for any telltale signs that John wasn't being completely honest. He saw none. 

"You're sure." Sherlock asked.

"Completely. All I ask is that you postpone getting back to work until after the honeymoon. I think you can give me your undivided attention for three weeks. I can always provide you with something to prove." John smiled, being coy.

Sherlock was hesitant but then his wholehearted grin appeared. "Okay. Thank you."

"Which reminds me. As soon as we get rid of our company and possibly Mrs. Hudson, I have a favor I promised you."

Sherlock's eyes widened in realization and the grin became coy as well. "Fantastic. I like making decisions for you."

"Shut up." John laughed and pulled him into a warm kiss that lasted longer than intended. John was feeling the pull of affection that centered around Sherlock and Sherlock was returning it, but both men knew not to come walking out of the bedroom with apparent erections. The took a moment to calm themselves before exiting the bedroom and taking to accepting Lestrade's offer.

"Looks like Sherly's back in business." Moriarty squealed as he threw the ear piece down onto the wooden table. "Well, with our little entourage making their way to the wedding, we'll make things interesting, if nothing more." Moriarty clapped his hands together and rubbed them menacingly. 

"Are you sending Ms. Firestone out as well?" Moran called from his precarious position upon the large elaborately dressed bed he currently laid naked upon. Moriarty approached, naked from the waist up, his trousers perched loosely upon his hips as he paced.

"Oh yes. I know the boys have been able to handle one problem at a time but I'll give them more than they'll be able to handle." Moriarty laughed. Moran smiled. Moriarty took hold of the candle nearest to the bed and flit his fingers through the flame. "And in the confusion I may be able to get my hands on Dr. Watson and hold on to him this time." Moriarty's menacing grin turned to one of disappointment and he held the candle over Moran's chest and poured, dripping the hot wax onto the man's skin. Moran hissed at the searing but fleeting pain that only sent aching twitches through his prominent cock. "This time, we won't fail. John will be the fly I play with and pull the wings off of while Sherlock watches. Then we can deal with him as we see fit. It'll be a lot of fun, you'll see."

Moran was agonizingly hard, but it was not unusual for Moriarty to tease and taunt him like this before getting down to it. Moran found waiting for the pleasure that followed their sadomasichistic encounters to be well worth it. "Are you going to let me at them when you're finished, Boss?" He asked as Moriarty dropped the candle and clambored onto the bed to grind his still clothed groin against Moran's. Moran struggled momentarily against his cuffs that held him tight to the bed. He growled, the friction driving him into a frenzy. He wanted to touch Moriarty, put his hands upon him, perhaps hurt him a little in return. It all depended on Moriarty's mood. Sometimes he had the chance, but it was rare. 

"If you're a good boy, Sebastian..." Moriarty sighed as he continued to rut against Moran's hard cock. Moran was delighted to feel Moriarty was more than ready as well, although he kept this happiness to himself. "I'll let you have at John to help convince Sherlock that I always get what I want. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Its not going to be a simple bullet in the head." Moriarty was starting to undo his trouser buttons. Moran watched hungrily. He was about to be used and abused, and he craved it.

"Perhaps he'll lose an ear..." Moran sighed. Moriarty gasped. The mere mention of doing things to John Watson only increased his pleasure, like the psychopath he truly was. "A few fingers....." Moran growled, knowing the effect he was having on his dominant lover. "Maybe a tongue if he gets too snippy..." Moriarty loosed his trousers and grasped Moran's dick with a nearly painful tight grasp as he slicked him up. Moran was nearly panting with hunger. He hoped that Moriarty didn't change his mind last minute. Again. "I could even arrange the good doctor receive a surgical procedure. He has two of a few things he could survive for a while on with just one." That did it. Moriarty was upon him, using him, riding him and Moran was quickly losing himself in the moment. He loved to watch his Boss use him to his satisfaction. It gave him some kind of jolt that he was the source of his Boss's pleasure, although he knew that wasn't entire true either. 

It wasn't until Moriarty bit into his shoulder as he viciously came and drew the warm blood out of the erotic wound that Moran came as well and drifted off into a cloudy haze of orgasmic afterglow. Moriarty disappeared as silently as he had appeared, loosening the cuffs that held Moran before he did so. Moran relaxed, his arms behind his head, as he dreamnt of new ways to torture their would be hostage and please Jim Moriarty. Because a happy Moriarty made for the closest thing he could call to intimacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the start of the Mormor isn't too disappointing or too crazy for you guys. It's going to tie in very nicely, and there will be a bit of backstory here and there as to how the two ended up together. Maybe this will give you some insight into how truly crazy Jim Moriarty is and how he will stop at nothing to get to Sherlock and have his way with John. 
> 
> I credit reader Amber for the introduction of Mr. Geoffrey Brandson. :) He's a really nice guy who can sure bake a mean cake or two and is reasonably priced. *rubs chin deeply in thought*. This is gonna be an awesome wedding.
> 
> Do you think Sherlock should do the interview? Tell the world how he did it? Do you think he's doing the right thing taking the paying job at Scotland Yard from Lestrade? Do you think he'll be able to contain the urge to consult and deduce things until after the honeymoon? How do you think John's going to get the middle name out of his new husband once they reach that point? :) All ideas are welcome and appreciated because this will be going to 100 chapters. And to the reviewer who said they were going to draw a scene from this fanfic in celebration of that chapter, I am sooooo excited to see it when we get to that point!
> 
> I'm just glad you guys aren't bored with this yet! It's so much fun for me to write. :) 
> 
> Next chapter, the introduction of Ms. Firestone, the boys get ready for their nuptuals. Perhaps theres a bachelor party or two?
> 
> Please review!!!!


	75. Chapter 75

"John!" Sherlock called, buttoning the very last button in his purple shirt. Every single one to perfection. He made to grab his coat and scarf from the back of the door. "Hurry it up!"

John bounced out of the bedroom attempting to put on his left shoe. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. If you'd remembered to uncuff me I could have gotten dressed a bit faster..." John's face was a grimace of aggravation as he struggled to tie the shoe and hurry towards the stairs at the same time. "Why are we in such a hurry?"

"Lestrade texted me. We've got a possible double homicide he's just been called to the scene for." Sherlock was grinning like an overexcited child. John couldn't help but let his aggravation slip a bit as he noted the look of happiness upon Sherlock's face. This is what was right. And now paid for it as well, as was right. He was happy Lestrade had offered him the job. The world's first paid consulting detective. John came forwards to grab his coat. There was a banging on the door to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock wrinkled his brow. John shrugged. Mrs. Hudson was scurrying to answer the door as the two men headed down the stairs. A tall, slender woman stood in the open door frame smiling.

"May I help you, dear?" Mrs. Hudson greeted her with a motherly charm.

"I have an appointment with a Dr. John Watson?" The woman answered. Mrs. Hudson responded with surprise and turned to see the two men standing behind her.

John approached her with concern. I don't remember having an appointment with anyone...He stepped forward and offered his hand. "I'm John Watson, but I don't believe-"  
The woman stepped happily forward and took hold of John's hand and shook it firmly. "Ms. Firestone, wedding consultant and planner! Very nice to meet you!" She held a planner or binder of some sort in her left arm and shook with her right, only breaking the handshake so as to readjust the librarianesque glasses that were slipping off of her petite nose. She was dressed in a charcoal grey pencil skirt and a nearly see through white blouse with a pink lacey camisole underneath. John couldn't help but note that she was an attractive woman. At one point in his life before now he would have happily enjoyed the thrill of the chase after her.

"Oh, well I don't remember scheduling any meeting with a wedding planner. I'm sorry." John glanced at Sherlock, who stood merely observing. 

"It would seem a Detective Inspector Lestrade gave me your address and scheduled you." She flipped through the binder and confirmed the appointment much to John's surprise. 

"Sherlock, what's this?" John turned to his fiance once more, who was beginning to look clearly more and more guilty as the seconds flew by. 

"Lestrade noted that this lady had done his previous two weddings and his cousin's as well. He boasted of her prestige. We figured you could use a little help to even out the stress of the day." Sherlock grinned at John. John sighed. 

"What about the double homicide?" John asked as he glanced back at the awkward two women standing in the hallway watching their conversation.

"I'll catch a cab and I'll text you the address. You can meet me afterwards." Sherlock's grin widened, his eyes taking John in with love. John smiled in response. It was kind of Sherlock to try and ease the anxiety of the upcoming nuptuals in any way he knew how. Sherlock leaned down and laid a quick kiss on John's cheek before heading past the woman and out to wards the street to hail a cab, the door slamming shut behind him. John sighed. He turned his attention back to the woman standing in front of him, waiting with a smile upon her face. 

"Shall we then?" John motioned towards the stairs and followed Ms. Firestone as she swept up them in her black pumps. Mrs. Hudson laid a comforting hand on John's arm.

"I'll bring up some tea and biscuits, dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted him reassuringly before teetering off to her flat to procure the things she'd mention. John felt the stress of yet another day of possible planning begin to melt away as he mounted the stairs.

"Okay, so the day of I'll make sure that everyone is checked in and set up to go two hours prior to ceremony time. I take it you've already procured a caterer?" Ms. Firestone was scribbling notes in her binder as she spoke. John sat across the desk listening intently. He bent to open the nearby drawer and pull out Mr. Brandson's card to offer to her.

"Yes, just two days ago. Geoffery Brandson." John slid the information over.

"Oh! I've used him in a couple of my client's weddings. He's very good. And at such a good price!" Ms. Firestone exclaimed with a smile as she took this information down as well. John grinned, knowing that Sherlock had a hand in that as well. "Is it coming together as you would have liked?" She asked as she leaned forward.

"It would seem so, although I never thought-" John stopped himself. It was true, he'd never imagined he'd be marry a man, much less Sherlock Holmes. Fate had a funny hand in for him, it seemed. Thoughts of Sherlock made his heart flutter, and this was all the confirmation John needed that he was sure of his feelings for his fiance. "It's just a lot to take in and plan in two weeks."

"It's always hectic when you rush it. Why so quick?" Ms. Firestone asked. John didn't comment, although his face fell at the mention. "Oh, I'm sorry, you don't have to say. Sometimes when you know, you know!" She smiled again. She took hold of her purse. "I'm sorry, I need to use the little girl's room?" 

"Oh, of course!" John stood and motioned towards the kitchen hallway towards the bathroom. She nodded politely and hurried off into the bathroom. John sat back, sipping his tea. How nice it felt to know that he wouldn't have to worry about anything the day of the wedding. She would handle it all, Lestrade would make sure that Sherlock was as he was supposed to be, Molly would be cheering him on and keeping him as calm as she could. He almost wished the event was the next day. He was relaxing, feeling comfortable.

Ms. Firestone returned from the bathroom and gathered up her belongings. "I believe I have everything in order. I'll contact the florist as well as the tuxedo shop and of course, Mr. Brandson to confirm everything." She pulled out a card and handed it to John. "Here's my cell number if you have any questions or make any changes. Or if you just need some help! Let me know!" She smiled brightly and John offered his hand again. She hurried forward and hugged him one armed around his neck. "Congratulations! And thank you for allowing me to help you on your special day!" She released him quickly, as the hug was very friendly but nothing more. John was surprised at all of her energy. "I'll be on my way, I know you need to get going to your work. Give me a ring if you need me before Saturday!" And with that, Ms. Firestone was down the stairs and out the door. 

John sat into his chair, staring at the card. It was pink, like her camisole, with black cursive writing spelling out her name Victoria Firestone and her number. It also seemed to be perfumed. He sniffed the card. It smelled slightly like the musky perfume she'd been wearing. He'd noted it when she hugged him. White see through shirt, pink lacy camisole....for some reason John was feeling strangely aroused. What the hell? Am I still aroused by women? John felt confused but the apparent reaction within his boxer briefs was apparent. No, I didn't feel this way the entire time, even when I checked her out. She's a pretty girl but...John stood and walked briskly into the bedroom he shared with Sherlock. He went around to his side of the bed, opening the bedside table to reveal his nightly things, a pen and a pad, his phone charger, and a few other items he and Sherlock made use of on occasion. He smiled. Sherlock was experimental, and this only urged on the erection that was quickly filling out. He found what he was searching for. He quickly pulled out the stack of poloroids and observed them as he sat on the bed.   
John and Sherlock had decided one night to make use of the old poloroid camera Sherlock had had sitting out in one of the boxes of various items he owned. Sherlock couldn't tell him where it had come from, but had fixed it at one time out of sheer boredom and never touched it since. John had been curious to see if it worked, and had caught Sherlock in quite the mood. The poloroids had been swiftly taken up from the bed and floor after their affair and shoved into John's side table drawer. 

He scanned them now. Sherlock standing at the closet, searching for his blue dressing gown in nothing but black briefs. Sherlock turning, confused as John had been snapping the pics, Sherlock approaching him somewhat miffed at having his picture taken...Sherlock looking down at him, or the camera, bare chested and pink throughout the cheeks as John had snapped the pic with one hand and stroked Sherlock through his underwear with the other. John was hard to the point of being overlysensitive. The pictures had reminded him of his attraction and had only multiplied the already apparent feeling of lust. Okay, so I've pinpointed that I wasn't attracted to her, just horny in general. Good to know. Still, John was at a point where he needed something done, and quickly. He was flushed and nearly writhing within his jeans. He pulled out his phone, smirking as he did so.   
Come if convenient.

If inconvenient, come anyway.

Come quickly.

-JW

 

He typed quickly and tossed the phone down on the bed. He only stood long enough to make his way round the bed and shut the door. He didn't want Mrs. Hudson to wander in and find him in such a situation. He unzipped his jeans and stripped quickly down to his underwear. He wondered if he should wait for a reply, or just get on with it. The feeling was maddening. Fuck. John decided and began to rub himself through his underwear. He wandered over to the bed and lay down upon it, continuing to rub himself. It felt so good, he almost felt guilty for taking care of things on his own. The phone was silent. He continued, images of past affairs with Sherlock flashing through his mind. The phone nearly scared him out of his wits as it went off. He paused long enough to view the text.  
Is it more important than two dead bodies and brainwork? - SH

 

John wanted badly to thrust his hand down his underwear, but contained himself. I'll show him what's so bloody important. John freed his cock from his briefs and snapped a picture of it in hand. He sent the pic and dropped the phone back onto the bed, thrusting and rutting into his hand. It was maddening. He felt he could go for days. I don't know what's bloody wrong with me, but I'd think I'd be able to come by now as turned on as I am...The phone went off once more.  
Hands off. 5 minutes. - SH

 

John smirked. He was learning how to press Sherlock's buttons. 

John jumped when he heard the door slam down below as someone flew through it. Sherlock appeared in the doorway of the bedroom and shut the door once more quickly behind him. John watched him, a feeling of relief and anticipation washing over him. "Took you long enough." He quipped.

Sherlock continued to throw off his scarf, his coat and his clothing haphazardly. "You're getting more and more sodding cocky, Dr. Watson." Sherlock was breathing heavily as he climbed onto the bed, although John couldn't tell if it was from running up the stairs or the picture he'd sent him. Whatever response John had prepared turned quickly into a grunt of pleasure as Sherlock wasted no time in taking John fully into his mouth and sucking him off. 

"Fuck me..." John moaned, attempting to contain his need to thrust into the warm wetness of Sherlock's mouth. He glanced down, watching as Sherlock worked him over, laying freshly naked at the end of the bed between his legs. Despite the obviousness of lust being in control, his heart swelled with love and longing that came with the intimacy of being physical with Sherlock Holmes. "I don't know what came over me but I had to have you immediately..." John sighed as Sherlock continued to grace the length of him.

"How do you want me?" Sherlock breathed, hot and moist against his skin. John raised his hips in response, every inch of him hot and tingling. Sherlock took the cue, leaning over to find the lube within the bedside drawer and slicking up his fingers and his own now unmistakably hard cock in the process. He slipped his fingers inside and John sighed in response. Sherlock spent little time preparing John, before he climbed on top of him and situated himself. He leaned forward and kissed John deeply, drinking him in, only coming up for air. John ran his fingers into Sherlock's mop of curls and groaned lustily as Sherlock entered him slowly. "Tell me, John...what do you need?" Sherlock breathed heavily into his ear as he began to move. John responded only with his hands upon Sherlock's hips, pulling him in roughly with each thrust. Sherlock took his cue once more, sitting up right and wrapping a free hand around John's cock and stroking him in rhythm as he thrusted quickly and roughly against John. John could barely contain himself, fearing he sounded like a wild animal in heat, but the sensation of Sherlock filling him up and touching him was almost to much to bear. His skin was afire with desire and lust and the need to have Sherlock's hands upon him. Not a single coherent thought crossed his mind as he reached his peak and came in Sherlock's hand and across his own stomach. Sherlock, lasting only long enough to make sure John was thoroughly pleasured, emptied himself into his lover and came to rest within him. He leaned heavily upon his hands, panting and staring at John as he lay on the bed breathing rapidly and attempting to calm his racing heart. "Feeling better?" Sherlock asked. John spoke no words once more, only pulled Sherlock up on top of him and into a deep, loving kiss. They laid this way for moments, breathing each other in and caressing the sweat sheened skin of the other as they basked in their afterglow.

"Fantastic!" Moriarty screeched and tossed down the phone as he ended the call. "Bloody fantastic!"

Moran poked his head into the room, watching Moriarty, fully clothed in his Westwood suit and beaming from ear to ear, turn to acknowledge him. "Boss?" He noted Ms. Firestone in her librarian type get up sitting in the chair off to the side of the large bed, black pump clad foot bouncing up and down, hair a bit desheveled. 

"It's working! It's actually coming together." Moriarty rubbed his hands together and continued to pace around the room in his manic state. "They've taken the bait, Sebastian."

Moran ventured into the room, hands in his pockets. "Ms. Firestone's been hired, I take it?" Moriarty didn't answer, as if he figured the answer was already obvious. "What's next then, Boss?" Moran stood and admired his commander. Moriarty wandered up to him. 

"Well..." Moriarty grinned and turned. Ms. Firestone smiled as well. "I believe a little birdie mentioned to Ms. Firestone that Lestrade is going all out for Sherlock for his bachelor party and I think Ms. Firestone will need to make an appearance. If they make it to the altar then Mr. Brandson can take it from there."

Moran watched Ms. Firestone as she stood and walked up to Moriarty, placing her hands around him as though she were claiming him. Moran tried not to frown. Boss was happy, that made for happy times with the Boss, which Moran craved so badly. Recognition. Acknowledgement. But, being beaten and abused in bed by his Boss was just as well. Either way, he was receiving the attention he craved. He did not, on the other hand, like Firestone. She was a whore, a slut, a seducer, and she currently had her hands on the only thing he craved in the world. She seemed to know this, as she let her hands wander lower and lower until she'd slipped one inside Moriarty's trousers. He was moaning his agreement. Both Firestone and Moriarty eyed Moran. "Just tell me what you want me to do next, Boss." Moran stated. He was trying very hard not to show any emotion.

"I believe it's time to celebrate." Moriarty's grin widened. He knew that Moran was lusting after him again. Being the psychopath and sadomasochist that he was allowed him to draw alot of pleasure from torturing his favorite pet, physically and mentally. Moriarty played with emotions like a cat with a mouse before it would be devoured. "Ms. Firestone, I'm sure you'd be more than happy to join us?" Moran's brow darkened only for a second. 

"It would be my pleasure." Ms. Firestone smiled ruefully, allowing her hands to stroke Moriarty from within his trousers as she grinded up against him from behind. "Although I don't think Sebby's in the mood." Moriarty's eyes darkened as well. Moran became uneasy inside, but he'd become used to hiding that emotion as well.

"Then let's change his mind, shall we?" Moriarty moved away from both of his employees momentarily as he fished out his cocaine from within the drawer. Firestone's eyes widened noticeably. Moran watched her. It was obviously she was still hooked on the stuff. Why pay her with money when you can just support her drug addiction? Moran praised his boss for being cunning. He was more than willing to celebrate, without a third wheel. If only...

Firestone helped herself to the cocaine as Moriarty walked back over to Moran. He stood, looking up at the slightly taller man. "We're going to celebrate, and then we're going to get right back to it. John Watson's heart is going to be ripped from his chest and stomped on. Then you'll come in, Sebastian, and do what you do best to procure him for me. The happier I am, the happier you are." Moriarty's hands were suddenly upon him, stroking him through his suit, toying with him, eyes upon his the entire time. Moran flushed. He couldn't help it. Moriarty was touching him and he wanted nothing more in that moment. "Are we happy now?"

"Yes, boss." Moran answered, his breath becoming quicker as he became aroused. Moriarty sensed it and pulled away. 

"Then take a breathing treatment over here with Ms. Firestone and let's get to it." Moriarty turned away, only turning back to watch Moran partake of the cocaine and embrace an already drugged Firestone as she threw her arms about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and start updating this story every Tuesday. If I don't do it more than once in a week I will at least commit to reaching my 100 chapters by posting every Tuesday! 
> 
> To the anon who is going to draw a scene for my 100th chapter, it's quite fine if you can't do a sexual scene! I understand that there are those that you don't want seeing something like that and I'm just excited you're going to do a scene at all! :D please tag me in it when you do, if you don't mind. I'm so excited to see it!
> 
> Next chapter: We see how dark and deep the rabbit hole goes with Moran/Firestone/Moriarty, and the hinted at bachelor party. Will Firestone make an appearance? What will she do? Will she succeed if she does? How strong do you think Sherlock's resolve is?
> 
> Also, I love that you communicate and respond to my questions in the reviews. So here's a few....why do you think John had the overwhelming reaction he did at the flat? What do you think Moriarty has planned for John if he ever gets his hands on him? Will this be a "fairytale" wedding? *hint hint*
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read!!!! Let me know if you enjoyed the Johnlock in this chapter....I hope I'm not getting too smutty. All things John and Sherlock do, although they are downright naughty sometimes, are all done with the underlying feelings of love and not being able to be without each other. They would die for one another......


	76. Chapter 76

"Is this really necessary?" Sherlock was nearly pouting as he and John rode in the back of the cab as it puttered its way through the streets of London. He stared out the window, his face nearly void of emotion except for the obvious disdain in his voice. John sat beside him, hand resting on Sherlock's thigh and smirked. 

"Absolutely. You picked Lestrade as your best man, and its his responsibility to throw the stag party on your behalf." John answered, amused. Sherlock huffed. "Its tradition, Sherlock. And a good time for the guys, I'm sure Lestrade's had his fair share. You're his friend, he wants to make sure you get the full treatment."

"I don't want the full treatment." Sherlock glanced down at John's hand as it tenderly rubbed his leg. "I'd much rather spend the evening in with you." Sherlock smirked now, hinting at the obvious sexual undertones his lust inducing voice was creating. John felt a hot flash as a wave of desire coursed through his blood. He dismissed it. 

"You know normally I'd opt for that too, but tonight we do our duty as the men honored and let Lestrade have his fun. You might enjoy it. Have a few pints and loosen up a bit." John patted his thigh and removed his hand, much to Sherlock's disapproval. "If you're a good boy perhaps I'll lure you to a back room with my boyish good looks and ravage you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the mention and John noted the flush in his cheeks. "But only if you behave."

"At least that I'll have to look forward to." Sherlock smiled, not just a smile of getting what he wanted, but one of affection that warmed John's heart. Sherlock's smiled quickly dropped into a frown. "Anderson had better not have been invited. I won't stay if he was."

"No, no." John laughed. "I was very clear with Lestrade that he not be included on the guest list." Sherlock's look evened out as the cab pulled around the long road and into the driveway of the prestigious lodge. Lestrade had opted for only the finest. 

"Not very fair that your best woman was not invited." Sherlock quipped as they exited the cab, Sherlock flipping up the collar on his coat as they stepped into cool air.

"She opted out actually, more happy to be keeping times with Mrs. Hudson tonight while we're out." John answered as he came around the cab. The two men stared up at the building in awe. Lestrade had spared no expensive.

"Are there going to be naked woman about?" Sherlock sighed. John couldn't help but laugh at this as well. Sherlock knew little about stag parties besides the drunkeness and the strippers that were so sterotypical.

"I don't know, perhaps for the other men's amusement, but if there were to be any he'd probably have petitioned me." John winked and led them inside. Sherlock followed slightly bemused.

The two stepped into a lobby decorated with lights and plants and chandeliers. Lestrade met them with what could have been equaled to a war cry as he came around. "Took you two long enough!" He enveloped them both in a hug, a pint already half finished in his hand. It seemed that Lestrade had started the festivities earlier than their arrival time. "Right this way boys! Let the celebration begin!" Lestrade pulled them both into the large banquet room he had sequestered. Their arrival was met by cheers from the many men Lestrade had invited from Scotland Yard and Mycroft's employment. Sherlock smiled, clearly nervous, John waved and smiled and put his arm comfortingly about Sherlock's waist. He leaned in. "A few drinks, you'll feel better. We've nothing to do tonight and we've got the suite upstairs already reserved." Sherlock took a deep breath, noted John's nod of enthusiasm and followed closely beside him into the throng of half drunken men towards the open bar where Lestrade stood with cold frosty mugs ready to be downed.

The stag party was most definitely a success, if you were Lestrade and his merry men. They toasted the couple, drank to their hearts desire, played some games, made raunchy jokes about the wedding night, and eventually broke into song later on in the night. Sherlock had downed a good amount of alcohol, more so than he ever would have on a normal outing, and John was feeling pretty giddy as well. Sherlock spent most of the night awkwardly thanking his stag party goers and watching John as he became one with the crowd and let loose to enjoy himself. Sherlock was feeling more relaxed, he couldn't deny it. Lestrade was only trying to honor them, and that he couldn't hate him for. 

John wandered over to Sherlock as he sat at the table littered with cigar wrappers, empty mugs, and plates picked clean of the manly feast. John had a smile on his face and a look in his eye. Sherlock knew that look all too well and the stirring within his trousers was answering John's silent mating call. John placed both hands upon Sherlock's upper thighs and slide them upwards as he bent down to whisper in Sherlock's ear. "How's about you and me blow this popsicle stand?" He drunkenly slurred into Sherlock's ear, sending shivers down his neck and spine, igniting tingles in places that were erogenous. Sherlock kissed him and rose to stand, taking John's hand. Just as the two turned to tell their partiers that they were retiring for the evening, Lestrade and a group of the men were upon them, tearing them apart and lifting them up into the air, singing some drunken song. Sherlock and John protested at first. Lestrade answered their pleas to be set down. "No, no, one last hurrah for the soon to be married couple and then the two of you can have your fun or whatever it is you brainiacs enjoy, I'm not privy to it..." Lestrade had obviously reached his limit. "Up the stairs boys!" Lestrade led the men in the direction intended. John glanced at Sherlock, who merely shrugged as if to say just go with it and John complied. They would be able to worm their way out of whatever was in store for them.   
Lestrade opened the door to the suite at the top of the stairs and the men tumbled inside with the two fiances upon their shoulders, splitting into two, and disappearing with John into the adjoining room attached to the suite, shutting the door behind them. Sherlock was whoozy, his head spinning and dizzy from the singing sea sick ride he'd received. The men promptly dropped him upon the large satin covered bed and tied his hands crudely to the large carved wooden bed posts. "What's this then?" Sherlock managed to say as Lestrade approached him on the bed. 

"You're last of the stag party entertainment." Lestrade smiled and before Sherlock knew it he was blindfolded. He listened as the singing group of men receeded and the door slammed shut behind them as they entered the hallway once more. The room continued to spin, Sherlock couldn't get a sense of anything as the alcohol flooded his system. They've probably done the same thing to John. Probably some dancer or some practical joke to end the night on. Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the headboard of the ornate bed. Might as well go with it. I'll have the rest of the evening to really enjoy myself once all of the folly is over with. Probably Mycroft's idea since he didn't show. Sherlock took a deep breath and waited for whatever was to come next.  
John had indeed been given the same treatment in the adjoining guest bedroom to the suite. The boys of Scotland Yard tied his wrists up to the bedposts and tied a black blindfold about his eyes and left him to ponder what would come next. He wondered if Sherlock was flipping out or comfortably numb within the blur that was inebriation. He sat and listened. It wasn't long before he heard the door the men had exited into the hall through open and shut with a click. "Oy, who's there?" John called out, feeling somewhat silly. He figured Lestrade was playing a joke, and all in good fun. It was after all a stag party.

"Room service." A sultry voice, undoubtedly female answered from the left side of the room. John couldn't help but sigh. He should have known. What's a stag party without the entertainment? Sherlock was correct, although he's probably going to give his own girl a lecture and cause her to run from the room crying or something. John listened to the padding of bare feet upon the carpet as the entertainment approached the side of the bed. John laughed to himself. Two men getting married and Lestrade's hiring naked woman for the stag party. John couldn't deny it. He still appreciated the female form. It just didn't do much for him any longer. Sherlock was the only one he loved or found arousing or stimulating.   
The bed dipped as the woman crawled onto it. John could imagine. Is she blonde? Dark headed? Big doe eyes? I'm sure Lestrade spared no expense on getting the biggest tittied woman there is in the London stripper circuit. John's imagination flew. Perfume wafted past him as she climbed about the bed, straddling him and beginning to grind against him. John's laughter was quickly fading. The room was becoming hotter, his blood was beginning to race, and his erection began to fill out. "Listen, miss, I know you've been hired and all, but I'm not really into women. So you can stop and we'll make sure Greg knows I got my money's worth."  
"Don't be shy. I could be the nurse to your doctor." The woman spoke, low and sultry and softly as she continued to work against John's lap. He pulled at his restraints. He was clearly aroused now. Did Lestrade mistakingly hire prostitutes?! John gulped. The woman was leaning foward, kissing his neck, his jaw line.   
"That's quite alright. I've had enough." John was beginning to panic. He didn't understand his immediate arousal, although it seemed to be happening a lot lately. His body was blatantly confused and the alcohol wasn't helping. Her hand was caressing him through his jeans now and he was moaning and whimpering like an injured animal. He hated himself for it. He wanted nothing more than to allow her to free his cock and ride him into oblivion. That's cheating, woman or man, that's cheating....what the bloody fuck is going on?! "Stop it! Stop it now!" John yelled. The woman only laughed and worked him over harder. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to buck into her hand as she cupped him. It was only moments longer before she'd allow him to spring free and she was pumping him slowly and teasingly.   
John began to pull at his restraints and rub the back of his head against the headboard, trying to free himself from his blindness. Surely Lestrade hadn't meant for this, Lestrade wasn' t that kind of a guy, then again, drunk...John couldn't be sure. He worked vigorously and loosened the knot on the blindfold enough to rub it off of his head. He looked down at the hair neatly done up, the librarianesque glasses perched upon her face, and the rueful smile that graced her pretty lips. "Ms. Firestone?!" John stuttered in shock.

"I have many names, and you are paying for my services." Ms. Firestone fluttered her eyes and grasped John firmly. 

"Let me go!" John yelped and fought against her. She frowned and sat up, pulling something from her bag she'd sat upon the nightstand, and sprayed it directly in John's face, leaving him coughing and sputtering. The room began to spin and John fought the losing battle to stay conscious. 

Sherlock roused when he heard the pattering of feet within the room. He didn't know if he'd fallen asleep waiting on whatever Lestrade had planned, but he was aware of the sounds within the room as well as the disorientation of the blindfold and his blood alcohol level. "John?" He called out, somewhat slurred. The bed dipped. He ventured to think he could hear shouting on the other side of a wall somewhere close but dismissed it as an auditory hallucination from the alcohol. Hands were upon him, running up and down his chest, neck, torso, thighs, but never grazing his groin. "John..."

Whomever it was shushed him softly and continued to run their hands up and over him. With quick fingers his shirt buttons were undone one by one and warm hands slid within to touch his skin. The sensation was heightened by the blindfold. He couldn't help it, it felt good. He grunted his approval. It's got to be John, no one knows how to touch me like John....He hoped this was the truth.   
The hands continued their work, down to graze across his stomach and then hooking into his trousers to free the button there as well. The zipper was loosened. A hand slid within. Sherlock was having a hard time telling if it was John's firm grasp or something else. He was quickly losing all conscious thought as the hand skillfully began to rub and work him into hardness. He let a moan escape. His trousers were yanked down and he was left only in his unbuttoned and open shirt and his black boxer briefs. The weight of his lover shifted until they straddled his lap. Sherlock could feel the girth of the other bound within their own underwear and they began to rub and rut against him. "John..." Sherlock moaned, somewhat relieved, and bucked up against him. Lips caressed his stomach, his neck, his shoulders, nipping at him, the way John often did. Drunk or not, Sherlock wanted John. He rutted firmly against the other, letting them know that he was ready. "I've endured this stag party purely with the intent of being ravaged if I entertained the thought. I've done that. Don't tease me, John..."

"Dear, there's an immense amount of teasing to be had before you're allowed to come tonight, I'm afraid." The body that ground against him answered. He stopped, his eyes wide under the blindfold. The voice was female. That can't be right, I feel....Sherlock could not deny what he felt rubbing up against him in a sinful manner was not female. He was confused. "Did you miss me?"

"Who...." Sherlock slurred, his mind racing. The pieces, without a visual, were not adding up.

"Consider this repayment for saving my life." The voice continued to caress his begging erection that had refused to wilt even in his confusion. Those skillful hands knew exactly what to do.

"Tell me who you are, remove this blindfold!" Sherlock cried loud in a moment of fear and confusion. The body on top of him stopped, but the hands did not.

"I'm disappointed, I thought you'd be expecting me..." The voice sighed. "I suppose you'll just have to be taught a lesson."

Sherlock froze once more. A hand removed itself from pleasuring him and lifted the blindfold from his eyes. He stared into the still doe eyed and dolled up face of none other than Irene Adler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter....how do you think this stag party is going to end? Is John going to be free of Ms. Firestone? Will Irene finally have her way with Sherlock? Next Tuesday you'll know!
> 
> I believe that someone said I'm 3/4s of the way through the story....I am at least 3/4s of the way towards my 100 chapter mark....but if I reach it and people still enjoy it and want me to continue, I've got many many more stories lined up. With the help of your suggestions and things I could drag this story out for as long as it takes to keep you all interested. :)
> 
> I'll update next Tuesday! Please let me know what you think!


	77. chapter 77

"I may have saved your life, but I never intended for you to return for repayment, Ms. Adler." Sherlock gazed up into Irene's dark doe eyes and watched her every move as she straddled and sat atop him. "I was merely allowing you to roam free, like a dyiing breed. Find some other trouble to cause that didn't involve me, John, Mycroft, or the British government."

"That you did, love." Irene spoke soothingly and began to run her hands once more across Sherlock's open chest. He winced at her touch. She cocked her head to the side curiously. "What's this? You seemed to be enjoying everything else I was doing...Oh, dear. Did you think it was John? Are his surgeon's hands as soft as mine?" Irene laughed. Sherlock furrowed his brow at her as she continued, trying not to flinch.

"Let me alone." Sherlock growled, clearly becoming upset. "What is it you want from me? More protection? Something else for me to solve for you? You could just ask nicely." Sherlock spoke quickly hoping that she would stop stroking him in the way she was. Irene smiled at him once more.

"I merely want you, Sherlock." Irene leaned forward, her lips inches from his. She lowered her voice temptingly. "No longer 'The Virgin', I suspect by the way you were reacting."

Sherlock felt his skin flushing, not merely from arousal but from the mere mention that Irene knew John and Sherlock were bedding each other. Normally it wouldn't bother him that others probably suspected what it was they did with each other. With Irene, and all of her many well kept secrets, this time it did bother him. "I'm engaged, and happily at that."

"Oh, I know you don't want a woman's body." Irene leaned up, allowing him a good look at her curvacious and nearly naked body. "That's why I prepared for the occasion." She rutted against his boxer briefed groin once more. Sherlock could still clearly feel a package of some sort within her panties. He crinkled his brow in confusion once more. "I can be whatever you want or need me to be, Sherlock." Irene reached seductively into her panties and produced the bright orange head of a dildo. A strap on, of course. How foolish that I couldn't think of that. Now Sherlock swallowed hard. Irene was serious, she meant to have her way with him one way or another.

"Did Moriarty put you up to this?" Sherlock asked, his voice now slightly shaky. He began to work his wrists within his confines, hoping he kept her full attention on him. 

"Surprisingly, no. This is a free range mission. After you uncovered my secret that I'd been swept off my feet by you, and then denied not once, within that room with Mycroft, but twice after you saved me from beheading." Irene sighed and played with the strap on within her hand. "I am a woman, Sherlock Holmes. I will have what I want. And what I want is my way with you." Irene's eyes were piercing. "You're stag party of friends are drunk and half passed out in their own room by now, John's being taken care of in the adjoining room, I believe-"

"John." Sherlock attention immediately shifted from concern for his own self to concern for his one and only. "What have you done to him?" Sherlock's anger was rising.

"Oh, I haven't done anything to him. I've nothing to do with whatever it is that's going on in that other room but by the sounds of it he is enjoying himself." Irene laughed. Sherlock stopped and strained to hear, but couldn't hear anything through his confusion and growing fear. "I could stop it, if you like. I've wrestled many a woman before. Or man, I'm sure I could work just as well." 

Sherlock stopped, straining to listen, glaring up in Irene Adler's pretty face. "You want a trade?"

"Why, sure, I'm open for suggestions." Irene pulled out from beside her leg that straddled him a black long paddle marked with engraved XOXO letters. She began to swat this into her hand lightly as if in thought.

"Fine. Done. Go stop it or let me free to do it myself." Sherlock pulled against his restraints. Irene considered him for a moment before climbing off of the bed barefoot to the floor. She tried the adjoining door, finding it locked and pulled a hairpin from her neat updo to pick the lock.

John couldn't make out much as he groggily fought to stay conscious. He noted that the woman on top of him, attempting to get him into a position to do terrible (well, in his eyes) things to him, stopped momentarily to regard a figure in the doorway. John squinted. It was indeed another woman, scantily clad. Well, fuck. John leaned backwards on the bed, feeling defeated. "You, dear, are being a bad, bad girl." The voice sounded familiar, but John couldn't place it.   
"What the bloody hell are you doing in here?!" Ms. Firestone answered, climbing off of John and beside the bed, very upset. "Get out. This is private."

"Orders from on high, it would seem, think otherwise. Get dressed and get out before I misbehave." The other woman answered. Ms. Firestone stood her ground. Came nearer in a blurry mess to the other woman even. The other woman drew back her hand, which held something black, and curtly slapped Firestone in her pretty face. Firestone cried out and fell backwards. "Now, tits and ass." The woman sounded a little more fired up with that last sentence. John's eyebrow's flew up as he noted the foggy figure of Firestone running from the room. The other woman regarded him closely for a moment at his bedside. "Shush now, you're fine. A little drugged but none the worse for wear. Sleep now." 

John fought it no longer. He noted the other figure walking briskly away as he laid back against the headboard and passed out.

Irene entered the room and closed the door behind her, locking it. Sherlock regarded her closely. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. I got to her before she got anything on him." Irene smiled and smacked the paddle in her hand once more as she approached the bed. "She's gone, and he's asleep. Seems he had either a little too much to drink or she drugged him. Either way he will be fine with a hell of a hangover in the morning." Sherlock felt relieved, despite the situation he'd just put himself in. He pulled once more at his restraints, vainly. He wasn't getting out of this one easy, if at all. Was infidelity acceptable considering he'd be doing it to save John from whatever was happening in that other room? Would John believe that?

"So, suppose this is it. You can untie me now." Sherlock answered reluctantly. Irene giggled, climbing once more back onto Sherlock like a cat on the prowl. "I agreed to be willing."

"I know, but you forget the business I'm in, love." Irene winked as she yanked Sherlock's black boxer briefs down, freeing his half hard cock in the process. She tossed them to the side. Sherlock's eyes were wide once more. Irene approached him and considered a moment. "Turn around, up on your knees." 

"But-" Sherlock tried to protest.

"NOW. I can just as easily take advantage of your little lover boy in there if you negate on your end of the deal." Irene scowled, a look he'd rarely glimpsed. Sherlock hesitated, thinking only of John. Then he did as Irene asked, twisting around so he's arms were crossed, facing the headboard, upon his knees. "Oh yes, that's better. I can see what John likes about you." Sherlock yelled out more in surprise than pain when Irene slapped his ass with the paddle. "You've been a very bad boy, Sherlock Holmes. But I'm sure the next few hours are going to be very arousing, I promise you." With that statement Irene slapped him once more, hard enough to leave a red welt of XOXO across his slender butt cheek and a sting of ringing pain throughout his body. 

Sherlock began to concentrate on John, on their wedding day, on their love for each other and their many shared experiences. He had done it for John, he wasn't cheating. Taken advantage of, yes, but John would be upset and hurt nonetheless. Leave it to Irene Adler to poke her nose in...Sherlock was lost in his own thoughts until he felt the push of something rather large and phallic up against his entrance. His eyes grew wide and his pulse raced. She really means to go through with this?! Calm down, Sherlock. It can't be any different than being with John...Sherlock tried to reassure himself to no avail. He was terrified and vulnerable. Everything done involving his anatomy with John was done with love and softness and reassuring heat of the moment touches and preparation. Irene would not be so kind, he was sure of it. She pushed once more with a moan, and Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, preparing for the worst.  
"On second thought..." Irene spoke from behind him, hands suddenly upon his back, caressing and tracing circles about his pale and slender frame. "I'd much rather this be a threesome. Now that would be worth it. What do you say?"

Sherlock tried to look back over his shoulder. "What?" A threesome?! With a dominatrix? John would never go for that...perhaps with some convincing and explanation...."With John?"  
"Of course with John, silly." Irene drug her nails down his back, causing his to arch and the strap on was dangerously close to being forced upon him. He shook. "The two of you and me, all having a jolly good time together. I'd get my satisfaction...you'll be on your way to the altar." 

"Agreed." Sherlock's breaths were rapid and shaky. 

"Before the wedding. No tricks." The pressure to his delicate areas released as Irene withdrew. She gave him one last good paddle before climbing off the bed. She slipped a card with a lipstick print onto the bedside table and started towards the door. "I'll send your best man up to aid you. Give me a call and we'll set up a time. Laters." And with that Irene Adler was out the door in a flash. Sherlock righted himself, laying back upon the bed, still feeling exposed but also that he'd dodged a rather tough bullet. As Lestrade's voice approached he could only think....What am I going to tell John?


	78. Chapter 78

John awoke in the smallish flat bedroom of 221B Baker Street. The light stabbed at his eyes and the sounds of someone rummaging about in the kitchen invaded his ears. His head felt as if it were ready to crack open like a split melon. He moaned as he rolled over to pull the pillow over his head. Drank too bloody much...John reminded himself. He paused, listening to the sounds of Mrs. Hudson in their kitchen rambling on about something to someone else. Sherlock? Or is she on the telephone? John moaned once more as the door to the bedroom opened and Mrs. Hudson knocked with her familiar "Oo oo!" upon the wood. "I brought you some medicine for your head and a glass of water dear. I've cooked up a hearty breakfast for you two when you're ready. I know your head must ache something awful."  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." John was able to get out. He rolled over, pulling the pillow off of his head and tried to sit up, finding that every movement ached. "What time is it?"

"About eight, dear. Take your time. Sherlock says no rush." Mrs. Hudson smiled, though John could only glimpse it through searing blurry eyes before she exited the room and pulled the door to. He took hold of the medicine, swallowing it down with the entire glass of water to rehydrate himself, and rolled back over on his side. Within minutes the good doctor was once more in a dreamless sleep.

John awoke a few hours later, feeling much better but still slightly fuzzy in the head and achy all over. He pulled himself up out of the bed, throwing on a t-shirt and his pajama pants before opening the door and venturing out into the flat. He ran his hands through his sandy hair as he stumbled in through the kitchen, noting the smell of the breakfast Mrs. Hudson had prepared and finding himself ravenous all of a sudden. He took a plate and began to fill it with the feast set before him on the mysteriously clean kitchen table.

He took the plate over to their usual spot, noting Sherlock sitting aside him reading the paper, his breakfast virtually untouched, as was the usual. He took straight to eating, finding himself feeling a little more like himself with each bite. At one point Sherlock put down his paper and rose to find himself in the kitchen. John regarded him momentarily, continuing to eat. "So."

"So." Sherlock answered, pittering about in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had apparently taken leave of the flat and disappeared to her own. Sherlock was pouring something before bringing over two saucers and cups, placing one in front of John. "Coffee."

"No sugar?" John started. "You know I don't like-"

"No sugar." Sherlock smiled as he took his seat once more, stirring his own coffee, strong and black, and proceeding to drink it. John nodded, noting that he didn't normally forget to fix himself coffee, but the post alcohol fog he was in was throwing him off. It had been a while since he'd been rightfully doused. "How do you feel?"

"Much better now that I've eaten and had an aspirin." John smiled. "What a night, eh? I thought we were staying the night at the hotel." John inquired, not being able to pull much together out of his thoughts. The last thing he truly remembered was singing some drunkard song with Lestrade and his mates as Sherlock stared on and drank his pint.

"Lestrade and his Scotland Yard mates made too much of a ruckus so they kindly asked the lot of us to leave. They were, however, kind enough to hail cabs for us. Had a time getting you up the stairs." Sherlock answered with a strange grin. John's eyebrows furrowed for a moment.

"Okay..." John answered, sipping his coffee. He noted that Sherlock was either being too quiet or too attentive. "Did I miss anything interesting?"

"Perhaps, but nothing worth remembering." Sherlock was quick to reply and quick to take up his coffee once more.

John put down his cup, noting that something was indeed amiss. "Tell me what I'm missing, Sherlock. I've lived with you long enough to tell when you aren't telling the entire story. So out with it." John said. Sherlock only looked on at him, his eyes almost sad, somewhat unsure. John's look softened. "What was it? Did Lestrade play a trick? Were there the usual naked girls or something?"

"Of sorts, yes." Sherlock answered. He was debating telling John, but he knew the subject couldn't be avoided. He'd been up the entire evening trying to figure out a way around the Irene Adler issue, but was coming up with nothing short of fleeing the country. And he wasn't entire sure that was an option either, knowing her. She had eyes and ears everywhere, simply because she knew what people liked. It disgusted him, to a point, but aside from his homeless network, it seemed to work well. "You don't remember Lestrade and the boys carrying us up the stairs and tying us to opposite beds?"

"No!" John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He didn't remember that little detail at all. He wondered what had happened. "Well?"

"Well, he meant only for us to be tricked into thinking he was going to provide us with entertainment but it turns out it was just a gag for them to leave us to ourselves for a while aggravated." Sherlock sighed. John's excitement dispersed.

"That's what you are not telling me? That's hardly anything to worry about." John chuckled as he took a drink of his coffee.

"Well, he didn't intend on Irene Adler showing up and taking off her clothes, threatening me with a paddle." Sherlock mumbled. John spit his coffee out about the table. Sherlock calmly laid down his now spattered news paper and took to cleaning off his suit jacket with the napkin.

"What?!" John was dumbfounded. "Lestrade planned that?!"

"Of course not!" Sherlock looked abashed. John didn't seem too upset. Yet. "Apparently she's been following me for sometime. Completely taken with me."  
"So? Did you..." John's face fell a bit.

"No, no." Sherlock answered quickly. John seemed relieved. Sherlock's throat was becoming dry. He knew he was going to have to say something. "Not that I would have had a choice, I was tied up, just like you."

John was staring at him now, uncertain. "So, the dominatrix did not take advantage of you being tied to a bed."

"No."

"That's unusually not like her at all." John furrowed his brow. "Any idea what happened to me?"

"Apparently there was a woman in your room too." Sherlock cleared his throat. John was momentarily silent.

"Really? Who?" 

"No idea. I never got a look at her. Adler ran her off." Sherlock answered. John stared. "At my request."

"So, you saved me from being involuntarily unfaithful. All while being tied up and teased by a dominatrix. Splendid work, I must say." John laughed, although his insides were a bit tight. He wondered what exactly the catch was. When it involved Sherlock and Irene Adler there almost always was one. "At your request." John leaned forward, taking hold of Sherlock's hand and squeezing it. "Look, if something happened that was beyond your control, you can tell me. It won't make or break our relationship. Being drunk and tied up to a bed while I was passed out in some other room hardly makes you a cheater if that's what you're thinking." Sherlock seemed to ease up a bit, watching John intently with his beautiful almost turquoise eyes. "I'd understand that, so no worries." 

"I wouldn't want her to come between us." Sherlock answered.

"She hardly matters, Sherlock. It's not like you were attracted to her. I think that's part of why she was so into you...she knew you were unobtainable." John smiled.

"It will suffice to say nothing happened between us." Sherlock let show a small sincere smile and John returned it. "But something is going to have to because of the deal we made."

John's smile shattered. "Excuse me?"

"When Irene clued me in that you were being unwillingly taken in the other room I offered her a trade for helping rid you of your assailant." Sherlock swallowed. Hard. He was nervous. John watched him motionless.

"Well?" John agged on.

"I promised her I'd allow her to have her way with me if she helped you." Sherlock sighed. John considered this. "She went into your room and ran off the woman."

"But you still didn't-"

"No, I thought she would have her way with me then and there, as she seemed intent on it, but rather she left me her card and told me to set up a date before the wedding." Sherlock ran his hands through his hair haphazardly. John stared down at his hand upon Sherlock's and his mostly eaten breakfast upon the plate in front of him. It was a lot to take in. Of course, could he blame Sherlock for making a deal with the devil to save John from something he had no control over?

"So, you owe her." John stated. Sherlock only nodded. "Okay, so give her what she wants." Sherlock looked surprised.

"What?!"

"If that's what you promised her, give her what she wants. She offered a service to you to save me. I can't hold it against you for repaying her." John was being sincere but Sherlock feared it was a relationship pitfall. "Don't look so surprised. She's probably just going to get you naked, slap you around a bit, and that will be that. It's what she does and what she probably likes. I won't be upset."

"You're serious." Sherlock felt light headed.

"Aren't you?"

"Not willingly! Or happily! I'm dreading it!" Sherlock sputtered. The worst was yet to come, and John was being so understanding already about the entire situation, it was nearly breaking Sherlock's heart. 

"That's why it's okay, you don't want to sleep with her, which means there's no loss of love in it for me. You love me, you want to be with me. She's a bump in the road and that's it."

"I'm surprised you're okay with this-"

"I want it over with but yes, you saved me and for that she demands repayment. I'm pretty sure she won't take anything else." John shook his head and sipped at his cooling coffee.

"There's still a catch." Sherlock stared a hole through John's head. John coughed on his coffee.

"All that...and there's still a catch?"

"It's as to why she didn't just get it over with."

"What's that?"

"She wants a threesome."

"Bloody fucking..." John dropped the coffee cup, allowing it to shatter on the table. He stood up quickly, the chair falling over behind him. "You're joking." Sherlock shook his head, unsure of the coming reaction. John stood, fists clenching. "A threesome. With me?" Sherlock nodded again. "What's she plan on doing to me? Beating me in front of you before she fucks you?" Sherlock said nothing, only looked up at him from his place at the table ashamed. "The woman doesn't exactly fancy me, Sherlock. It puts me in a rather odd position."

"I understand, and I'm sorry but she had me-" Sherlock started. John watched him, obviously livid, but unmoving.

"Had you what? Out with it."

"She was wearing a strap on and she was going to have her way with me and I was...afraid." Sherlock felt like he was swallowing razorblades. He had broken into a cold sweat and was trying to contain the tremors that were attempting to take over. He couldn't differentiate on whether he was scared of the memory or scared of losing John over the entire situation. 

"She was going to what?" John's tone was softer and a bit confused. 

"She had be tied to a bed and turned about face and..." Sherlock trailed off. "Intimacy with you is one thing, John. I trust you. I only allow my body to be touched and used by you. With her it felt forced and alien and intimidating." 

"So in that moment, she offered up the threesome card." John stated. Sherlock nodded. John took a moment to consider. In a moment when Sherlock was incredibly vulnerable he had agreed to something that involved the three of them. He had been terrified, John was sure, and he had already offered himself up to save John from whatever was going on in his room that he couldn't possibly remember. Can I really blame him? He isn't a soldier, he isn't the type to hold out on situations. It was an embarrassing, vulnerable situation and he made a cut throat decision. "Alright, look." John started, still very upset, but calming. "You call her up and tell her a time and figure out the details. But you make sure she knows there won't be both of us tied up at the same time, there will be a fucking safe word, and any intrusion on that will be handled personally. By me." John stormed off into the bathroom, giving himself a few minutes to calm.  
When John emerged twenty minutes later, Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot at the table. He still looked like a beaten animal. John felt a pull at his heart. "Have you done it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I won't force you into this."

"Sherlock." John approached him, pulling him up from his seat to stand in front of him and tower over him a bit as he did. "I meant it. I imagine you've gone over every scenario and possibility for a way around this in your head. The fact that you've told me all that you have tells me there is no way around it. I almost feel better that it's happening together. She's not going to be able to make me jealous and I will most definitely assure that nothing goes too far. She'll get what you both agreed to, and then it will be over and we will be rid of her."

 

"I don't want this to ruin-"

"This is the life we live, Sherlock." John played with an errant curl as he spoke. "Danger is our passenger. I can scratch threesome off my to do list." He smiled. Sherlock started to but quickly dismissed it. "I don't hold you responsible. We'll get this over with, and get to our wedding day." Sherlock couldn't hold himself back. He leaned forward and kissed John sweetly and warmly upon the lips. 

"I'm sorry."

"I should be saying thank you." John answered. Sherlock raised a brow. "You saved me from being taken advantage of and I'm thankful for that. I can't hold my alcohol like I used to." John sighed. "Call her, let's get this over with." Sherlock nodded, pulling the phone and the card from his pocket and dialing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine a lot of the reaction from John is not what you were all expecting. But I see John as a very understanding fiance, if not tempermental at first. I see John expecting the unexpected living with Sherlock and so realizing the position that Sherlock was in and knowing he wasn't arranging it out of boredom or lust for Adler. 
> 
> Hope you were not too disappointed.
> 
> Next chapter, we find out what Moriarty thinks of Ms. Firestone failing in her mission to take John, as well as John and Sherlock's threesome date with Ms. Adler. Do you think she'll get her way? Do you think the boys are going to enjoy their time with Ms. Adler? Next Tuesday! And just think....after this whole Adler situation is resolved...we still have a wedding to attend. :)


	79. Chapter 79

Sherlock paced about room in front of the couch as the yellow graffiti smiley face grinned down on him. John sat in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Together they waited. Mrs. Hudson was away with a friend for the evening, John had coaxed her into taking a night away from 221B. Currently he sat deep in thought awaiting the knock at the door. Unless she comes up with another dramatic entrance. John rolled his eyes. He glanced at Sherlock.  
Sherlock paced back and forth aimlessly, obviously deep in thought as well but more nervous than he normally appeared. After the sexual scare Irene had given him at the hotel, John really couldn't blame him. He had been forced into an awkward agreement and had to volunteer John as well, which he wasn't proud of. John had been extremely understanding, but Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt at being the one to bring all of this inadvertently upon them. When the knock came at the door and the squeak of the door as it swung open followed, he stopped cold in his tracks, his hands steepled up in front of his lips, his eyes wide and searching, trained upon the spot where their visitor would appear upon the stairs.

Surely enough, Irene Adler topped the stairs and entered the flat, taking a look about as she did. She set the black crocodile skin suitcase next to her as she did. "Well, boys, I can see now a whole lot has changed at the Holmes household." She smiled, her hair done up in a pretty bun, the lipstick upon her lips the color of blood, a favorite of hers it would seem. "Ready for a fun filled evening?"

Sherlock glared at her, obvious contempt within his eyes. He didn't answer. John stood, watching the tension between the two. "As we agreed." John calmly stated, although the firmness within his voice could be felt. 

"Of course, I agreed to the rules, no worries." Irene smiled. tapping her suitcase. "If we're going to do this right, you'll allow me to make up the bed properly?" Sherlock furrowed his brow and watched her. 

"I'll be watching you. No cameras." John crossed his arms. Irene nodded, picking up the suitcase and heading up the stairs into John's old bedroom. He felt carrying out this agreement within their own bedroom was somewhat of an invasion of privacy. He watched as she brought out each item. A set of red silk sheets for the bed, some sort of contraption that had padded restraints at all four ends. 

"You'll have to help me lift the mattress for this." Irene met John's eyes as she held it up. He hesitated, but then lifted the mattress at each end so she could attach the restraints underneath. Then followed restraints for the headboard posts as well as a slew of candles and a small stereo with an ipod attached. "Is he out of earshot?" Irene asked as she set up the articles she'd removed from the case.

John glanced out the doorway and down the stairs. He could hear Sherlock making his rounds in front of the couch once more. He turned back. "Yes. What is it? We are not deviating from the rules."

"No, no, we won't." Irene smiled. She stopped and leaned forward on the bed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since making this deal with Sherlock. At one point, yes, I wanted him to myself to do with as I pleased, but now that the two of you are out about your relationship and planning a wedding, my intentions have...well...changed." Irene sighed. John cocked his head at her curiously, arms once more crossed. "I'm serious, John."

"You set up some BDSM sex play deal with Sherlock using me as leverage and now you're saying your intentions have changed?" John was confused. He wasn't completely comfortable with the entire situation to begin with, but now he was a little more nervous. Irene Adler was hardly one to be trusted.

"I fell for Sherlock, despite fighting against it and feigning a lesbian flare. I am bisexual, I won't lie, but Sherlock's mind is fascinating and quite the turn on. And then, he humiliated me by calling me out when I had presented my demands to Mycroft and the British government. I want revenge to even the playing field. That's where you come in."

"I won't do anything to harm Sherlock, physically, mentally, or integrally. You'll never have me budge on that." John cleared his throat, peering back out the door to find Sherlock's position hadn't changed. 

"I don't expect you to. I only want you to play along." Irene smiled. "I'll ask you to chose who I tie up. You'll state Sherlock. He will be the only one restrained and blindfolded. I'll get a few swats in, then I'll instruct you on the rest. That way he'll think I've had my way with him, and you'll learn a few tricks of the trade. Of course, I'll still be seeing the two of you naked and in the throws of passion, but I am a bit of a voyeur so everyone wins." Irene explained calmly. John considered quietly as she continued to pull out her paddle, some sexual toys and lube, and a few unholy looking creations that John swallowed hard at. 

"This is it? After all of this, you're done? You won't be springing any surprise sexual visits on us again?" John asked. Irene met his eyes.

"Done and done." She smiled. John sighed. 

"Okay. Fine. Let's do this." John agreed.

"Wonderful! Come close, I want to show you how to properly apply this." Irene picked up a small metallic ring with a lock and motioned John closer.

Sherlock felt his heart drop into his feet and his stomach rise with bile into his throat as John descended the stairs. He approached Sherlock, his eyes trained on him indefinitely. "Okay. Are you ready for this?"

"No, but what choice do we have?" Sherlock growled looking away. He glanced back. "This is all my fault, John. I'm sorry."

"It changes nothing, Sherlock. A bump in the road and we're off to be married. Let's get this over with." John nodded, taking Sherlock's hand in his and leading him up the stairs. Sherlock felt his feet were made of lead as they approached John's old bedroom. Sherlock swallowed hard as they entered the room, transformed by the dark reds, blacks, and the glow of candlelight about the room. John shut the door behind them. They stood in front of the bed as Irene approached from the corner, a cigarette between her fingers. She'd already started the iPod playing some playlist. The song was heavy and dark and somewhat rhythmic. John watched her approached, dressed in her see through black lace robe. Her signature garter and stockings could be seen beneath, but her breasts were only full display above. John tried to avert his eyes but knew he needed to play along or else Irene's plan would not work. 

"I've waited for this moment for a very long time." Irene smiled as she came up to Sherlock, running her hands through his curls and down about his jacket, pulling it off his shoulders slowly. He said nothing, only watched her every move with a disgruntled expression. John could see the anxiety in his eyes, but knew that this was going to be worth it. He didn't like tricking Sherlock, but it was for all of their own good. "I just didn't think we'd be including your flatmate."

"Fiance." Sherlock breathily corrected. He glanced at John. Irene was running a hand upon his chest, popping the buttons loose skillfully with her one hand as she worked on Sherlock's own button down shirt. In seconds both men's shirts were unbuttoned and pulled from their tucks. 

"Whatever." Irene rolled her eyes and ran a hand down to Sherlock's zipper. He stiffened. "So, let's see. I can't have you both tied and punished at the same time so...." Irene glanced at John. "Who will it be, lover boy? You or your fiance first?"

Sherlock only left her gaze to turn and stare at John when he answered "Sherlock." Sherlock's anxiety was notably increasing. John wondered if he'd be able to make it through this entire scenario without fighting them off or stroking out. "Well, you got us into this mess and you're the one she wants." John shrugged. Sherlock's face became once more an emotionless mask as she straightened and glared back down at Irene. 

"Ah, yes, the brilliant consulting detective. We'll give him something to think about, won't we, John?" Irene laughed. She unbuttoned his trousers and slid the zipper down. John watched. She slid her hand inside and John noted the hitching of his breath as he did so. "Ah, I see it's going to take some convincing to get you raring to go. Loverboy can help you with that." Irene removed her hand and backed up, motioning to John. John stepped in front of Sherlock quickly, glancing up at him. 

"The quicker you comply, Sherlock, the quicker this is over." John whispered to him as he slid his hand into the opening within his pants and began to rub Sherlock softly within the thin fabric of his underwear. Sherlock grunted a bit, meeting John's gaze. "That's it, just imagine its me doing this to you. I won't let anything happen that she hasn't complied with. I promise." John felt a shallow response to his touch and he smiled slightly. Sherlock returned it.

"Hmmm...starting out nicely boys. How about we amp things up a bit? John, shirt and pants off, underwear only, on the bed on your back." Irene spoke up from behind them. Sherlock sighed, suddenly once more disgruntled. John removed his hand, stepping back only slightly to remove his shirt and jeans. He tossed them to the side and stood nearly nude in front of Sherlock. He nodded to Sherlock, as if to say look at me, not her. John jumped suddenly as Irene swatted his butt with her paddle. "On the bed Mr. Watson." John complied, laying down on the satin and glancing at the strange restraints around him. "You, Mr. Holmes. Shirt off. Keep your fly open and crawl on top of John." Irene instructed.   
Surprisingly, Sherlock complied quickly. He was on top of John before John could react, and he was kissing him before Irene could complain. John figured she wouldn't. She'd want to get the full show. John reached between them and into Sherlock's trousers once more, feeling the length of him beginning to fill up the shallow space within. John took hold of him and stroked him agonizingly slow. Sherlock groaned into his mouth. "That's it, good show." Irene breathed behind them. John had to push the idea that she really was getting off on this out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. "Sherlock, pull out that cock of yours and let John have a lick or two." Sherlock paused, as if considering. John met his eyes. Do it. He willed towards his lover. Sherlock quickly reached within and exposed himself, moving in to position and taking hold of the headboard to allow support. John grasped his thighs from below and pulled him in, licking him teasingly about the crown and down his shaft.   
Sherlock was amazed he was enjoying this. With John it was easy to get lost in the moment and forget about anything else going on within the universe. He was thoroughly enjoying the sensation of John taking him into his mouth when the paddle smack across his rear and left him stinging. He jumped, but John steadied him and continued on with his task. Another spanking. Sherlock felt he didn't mind the mingling sensation of the sting with the pleasure John was giving him. He closed his eyes. "John, I want to see his ass." Irene spoke up. John reached up and exposed Sherlock's curved butt to the dominatrix, who then lashed his pale soft skin with her rubber whip. Sherlock cried out a bit and began to glance over his shoulder at her. John took the opportunity to take him fully into his mouth, distracting the detective and turning the cry of surprise and pain into one of desire and wanton lust. 

"Alright, time to switch." Irene said. Sherlock reluctantly crawled off of John and stood beside the bed with him. "Clothes off, Mr. Holmes, and face the headboard on your knees." Sherlock looked at John. The fear was back. John took his trousers and boxer briefs from him, leaving Sherlock to subconciously cover himself as he climbed onto the bed. Irene approached, clamping is arms into each of the restraints along with his ankles. Sherlock knelt, humiliated, upon the bed. "Here you are, John. Put it on him." Irene handed John the black velvet blindfold. Sherlock watched as John covered his eyes with it, his mouth like cotton. Surely he could trust that John wouldn't allow her to do anything too evasive. He prayed, if you could call it that. "Now the spreader bar."

"Spreader bar?" Sherlock eeked out as he felt John's hands upon his legs, fasting some device to them above the restraints. 

"Yes, dear. Wouldn't want you closing up access. It won't hurt." Irene reassured him. Sherlock's blood was cold. He moved his legs, feeling he couldn't close them, even if he tried. "And now my personal favorite." He once again felt John touching him but it was higher, touching his thighs, his ass, and suddenly something slightly cold, heavy, and metal was clamped around his balls. "Testicle cuffs." She seemed almost gleeful as she mentioned them.

John was near his face now. "Does it hurt?" He asked quietly, concerned.

"No, it's just a bit...claustrophobic." Sherlock answered, finding the weight of the contraption on his private parts to be somewhat gratifying, although he couldn't logically explain why. John was gone again, another stinging slap to his ass with her favorite paddle caused him to lurch a bit forwards. The sensory deprivation caused everything to be a bit more sensitive than normal. 

"That's it, John." Irene could be heard. John could also be heard, leaning on the bed, Sherlock guess, the swoosh of air as the paddle whizzed through. The grunts and sighs John made as he was punished by the dominatrix. Sherlock was amazed. He was aroused. Hearing John make such sexual noises without even touching him was causing a reaction, although the anticipation of what lay ahead for him was a dreadful solid fear within the pit of his stomach. "You've been a naughty doctor. You shouldn't take advantage of your flatmate as you do. Riding him, filling him up with your cock, making him cry out while you pound into him." Irene continued a monologue as she continued to do whatever it was she was doing to him. Sherlock was nearly achingly hard but also beginning to feel insanely jealous. She was touching his John. His naked John, at that. A sense of personalism was dredging up from the depths of all of his emotional thought and rearing its ugly head. He'd gotten John into this and here he was, tied to a bed, listening to her strike and pleasure him.

Hands were upon him, caressing him. Female hands. He felt repulsed, but his erection did not wither. "Mmmmm, a bit of double play on this one." Irene whispered in his ear as she caressed him. He shivered. "John, go on then." Sherlock felt the bed move. Suddenly a body sat in front of him with legs splayed out behind. John's hands were there suddenly, feeling him, touching him, loving him. He felt relaxed once more. John was kissing him, exploring his mouth, connecting with him. Sherlock nearly forgot all else until he felt Irene's hands upon him once more. 

"John." Sherlock spoke. 

"It's okay, Sherlock. Endure this, we're almost there."

"I'm sorry. She took advantage of you."

"It's okay. You can make it up later. Just concentrate on me." John took his mouth into his once more and wrapped a lubed hand about Sherlock's hard cock as he did so. Sherlock attempted to buck, but found it difficult with the spreader bar attacked to him. 

"Now, I'll have my way with you, Sherlock Holmes." Irene's voice was behind him and before he could utter a word she began to swat him in the most intimate of places. He was immediately distracted by the pain to his entrance and genitals, the slight stinging, the warm slick hand of his lover upon his cock and his tongue exploring a warm wet mouth. It was almost too much. His balls began to rise, the sensations all culmunating into one point. Sherlock paused. Here he found the reason for the so-called testicle cuffs. They were not allowed to rise much further. He couldn't push past the point of no return. Sherlock would not be allowed to cum until Irene allowed him to. Here was the true power play. John's other hand moved to grab Sherlock's ass, digging into him, and John joined his cock with Sherlock's, rubbing the two together. His breathing was becoming raspy as he loved them both. Irene continued her assault upon his private areas before she gave up the whip and began with a vibrator tracing around his balls and his entrance. Sherlock didn't care. The need to release was building and becoming enormously. It was distracting. "I hope you're ready for this, Mr. Holmes. I told you I'd have you begging twice, now that I shall have." Irene was smiling through her speech as she slid the vibrator slowly inside.

Sherlock moaned, not only out of pleasure but also out of contempt. She'd never allow him to come. John was close, he could tell by the breathy nips he was making at Sherlock's lower lip and neck and the friction between them was becoming increasingly frantic. Now the pleasure of whatever Irene had up inside of him was driving him to the point of insanity. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't beg her for mercy. "John..." He rasped. "Please..."

"No, no. You have to beg me, love. I'm in charge here." She tapped the deviced still clamped about his tightening balls and he was quickly reminded that she probably held the key. Fuck. Sherlock was finding the need overtaking him as he moaned.   
"Please, Irene...." Sherlock felt dirty just saying it but he said it nonetheless. "For goodness sake, please let me-" He stopped short here. He could not say it. John halted and wiggled out from underneath him. "I beg you..." Sherlock felt near tears, for what reason he couldn't fathom.

"Well, I suppose." Irene laughed. He felt the weight of one behind him as the vibrator was removed. Then, a strong male hand wrapped softly but firmly above the testicle cuffs and the heavy metal feeling was relieved. The hand, did not budge. "But you come when I say." She added.

"Sherlock..." John sighed as he slid inside him. Sherlock arched his back with pleasure as John hit his spot as only John knew how. He began to thrust rhythmically, also wanting release but not feeling it fair until Sherlock gained his. "Willpower, Sherlock." John grunted as he moved within him, grabbing hold of his hips as he thrust deep inside. Sherlock regained control of himself, but he knew it would not last long. 

After what seemed like an eternity he could hear Irene Adler off in the distance of his mind. "Come, Mr. Holmes." The hand that held him was released and he allowed himself release, with such an intensity he had never felt. John followed soon after. The spreader bar and restraints were removed, allowing the men to lay upon the bed, chests heaving, the sheen of sweat upon them. "There, there. Now, that was a good show." Sherlock lifted his blindfold off of his eyes and noted that Irene had a bit of a glow to herself as well. Pulse heightened, eyes dilated. He narrowed his eyes at her. 

Irene's stilettos made a deafening noise as she descended the stairs into the flat. "Well, I'd say that our deal was fulfilled. With much enthusiasm." She smiled at John and also at Sherlock who averted his gaze in a shameful way. "Much obliged for contributing, Dr. Watson."

"Yeah, yeah. Are we finished now? Go flog somebody else." John answered. She gave a slight curtsey, picking up her suitcase and descending the stairs out into the rainy evening. Sherlock hoped she would never be seen again. Although he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the night hadn't been entirely bust. 

Sherlock watched John as he ventured into the kitchen to pour some tea. He followed him. "Are we alright?"

John glanced up at him. "Yes, I'm alright. Are you?"

Sherlock was quiet a moment. "Embarrassed and ashamed, but yes."

"That's part of the point, Sherlock. She is a dominatrix. That's what they do." John answered as he poured a cup for Sherlock as well. Sherlock gazed off into the distance as he sipped the tea. The door to 221B could be heard opening and closing, the quick steps of one Mrs. Hudson ascended the stairs.

"Oo, oo!" She rapped on the door as she entered. "Looks like you boys have an early wedding gift!" She was carrying a large box wrapped with black cord and dressed in shiney red tape. "I found it beside the door inside. Did you boys not hear anyone come by?"

"Nope." John quickly answered and took the package from her. Mrs. Hudson threw up her hands and went back down to her flat. John set the box upon the desk and pulled out the card that was under the cord and read it. "Best of wishes on your wedding day. May all your fantasies come true." He glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock flipped open the box lid. There before them lay the tools of their evening: the testicle cuffs, the bed restraints, the sheets. Sherlock picked up the cuffs and admired them, a spark of fire igniting deep within his lower belly as he remembered the heaviness and feel of them. "I'm up to try anything." John answered and gave Sherlock a knowing look. Perhaps the evening hadn't been bust after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm late again. I've been having some issues with my health so I've been extremely tired. Last two days I've done little more than sleep and take medicine. That's no excuse. I apologize.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was very fun to write. I know I left out the MorMor part but I'm going to head off with that next chapter.
> 
> Next chapter: MorMor, as mentioned, and the rehearsal dinner goes awry!
> 
> Thanks to all of you for continuing to read! :) I love you all and love writing smutty and adventurous Johnlock for you!


	80. Chapter 80

Sebastian Moron lay on the bed staring up at the man who was currently pleasuring himself overhead. This had been going on for a good 45 minutes, or so Moran guessed. He didn't mind. He'd been teased and deprived for longer periods of time before. He was as surprised as any when Moriarty had wandered in to watch Moran cleaning one of his guns and offered a night cap. This, of course, was always up in the air about what exactly it entailed. It often depended upon the boss's mood. Tonight he seemed to be in a decent one. Better luck for Moran. Moriarty had lured him into his bedroom, given him a few shots of something stout and bitter and a line of cocaine before coming up to rip open Moran's shirt so hard the buttons had ricocheted off the bedposts and the desk. Soon after Moriarty had him naked and vulnerable upon the bed as he straddled him, commanding him to watch him as he stroked himself.

Moran struggled not to touch himself. This would be a quick turn around that he was hoping did not occur. Moriarty was stroking the skin of Moran's body, over the scars that peppered him here and there while his other hand ran over the thickness of him. Currently his head was thrown back and with the dim light of the lamp behind him, Moriarty's silhouette was truly something erotic. He watched, enraptured by the commanding presence of his boss, of the man he loved and wanted nothing more than to please. Even if it meant suffering sexually and emotionally to make him happy.

"Touch yourself, Sebby." Moriarty was all eyes upon him suddenly and Moran hoped he hadn't seem him drifting off in thought as he watched the show unfold in front of him. He hesitated as if he hadn't heard him correctly. "Do it now, I want to see you touch yourself. Slowly." Moriarty reached above Moran's head and retrieved the lube he'd had under the pillow. He drizzled it over the prominent head of Moran's cock and Moran obediently reached up and covered himself in the slickness and began to stroke up and down as Moriarty watched and matched the rhythm. The sensation was wonderful, but quickly subsided when Moran feared he might come too soon. Boss would be angry. There would be pain and possibly lack of physical affection of any sort. This simply wouldn't do. He slowed a bit further, just to be safe. "Oh, Sebastian..." Moriarty moaned. "You've been a very very good boy lately. So I'm going to reward you." Moriarty leaned foward, letting go of his own weeping cock to take hold of Moran's. Moran gasped silently. He began to tease Moran as he breathed upon his neck. "I'm going to ride you, Sebastian. But you won't come until I tell you." Moran could tell when boss grinned through his words. He gulped. This was going to be a trial but well worth it. It wasn't often Moran was allowed inside boss. That was reserved for when boss was either in a great mood....or he just felt like using Moran as a life sized sex toy.

Moriarty turned around, what could be considered reverse cowgirl, allowing Moran an exquisite look at his ass. Moriarty lubed himself up, allowing a finger to slip inside himself momentarily, much to Moran's satisfaction. Then he sank down on top of Moran and groaned as he did so. Moran's fear almost materialized as the feeling of tight heat surrounded him agonizingly slow. Moriarty leaned back once positioned and began to feverishly fuck himself on Moran's cock. It was purely all for Moriarty's satisfaction, but Moran found he was allowed to position his hands upon Moriarty's hips and dig in a bit without being rebuked. It was torture. All of it, and yet it felt fucking fantastic. Thankfully Moriarty had worked himself into a frenzy and came violently across his own stomach only minutes later. "Come, Sebastian." Moriarty moaned and Moran released what could be classified as a roar as he emptied himself deep within Moriarty as he sat upon his cock. Moran found himself feeling completely drained seconds afterwards. The deprivation and overstimulation could definitely take a lot out of a man. 

Moriarty removed himself and turned, pulling Moran into a fierce kiss, which Moran returned with gusto. Moriarty ended it with a bite at Moran's lip, nearly drawing blood. He smiled as he pulled away. "Outstanding as ever, Sebastian. Perhaps you'll be entitled to a second one tonight if you play your cards right." Moran returned the smile, but kept silent, as boss rarely wanted anyone to speak after he himself was spent on being a sexual deviant. 

The door opened. Ms. Firestone waltzed in, unannounced, not seeming to care if she'd interrupted the two naked men upon the bed. "Ah, so..." Moriarty's grin widened as he climbed off the bed and took hold of the black towel on the back of the nearby chair. Moran didn't make any bother of covering himself up. Neither criminal were interested in the other, unless boss commanded it. Thankfully that didn't happen often, as Moriarty was somewhat of a jealous lover. "Did we succeed?"

"No." Ms. Firestone was pouting. Moriarty's grin quickly faded.

"What do you mean, no?" Moriarty quietly inquired. Moran sat up, sensing the tension mounting, finding that any minute boss could have a tantrum. That was NEVER good. "You had one job, the only kind you're good at, and you say no?"

"I was interrupted by some other woman." Ms. Firestone met him eye for eye, having more courage to do so than Moran could muster.

"Another woman? John seems to have drawn the longer straw at this stag party." Moriarty almost sounded confused.

"She apparently was in Sherlock's room-"

"Ah." Moriarty laughed. "It could be none other than Ms. Irene Adler. She's been wanting to get at Sherly for a while now. Looks like at least one of you succeeded. And I hadn't even ordered her to make an appearance." Moriarty's smiled faltered again and he walked away from her, heading back towards the desk for a shot of whatever he'd given Moran earlier. "Did John recognize you?"

"Yes, but I used the enhanced spray so he wouldn't remember. I should still be able to infiltrate the rehearsal dinner tomorrow and not have any more difficulty. I won't fail again." Firestone answered. Moriarty poured his shot and approached her. He drank it in front of her in an awkward silence.

"You're correct. You won't fail again. But you will be punished. Go big or go home." He threw down the glass, not even blinking as it shattered upon the floor. He pulled Ms. Firestone in close, the smile never resurfacing on his face. Moran looked on with a slight curl of the lip.

"John..." Sherlock groaned sweetly as he nuzzled John's neck. His suit jacket hung about him as he moved needingly within John. Ties haphazardly lay upon the crumpled sheets of the bed. "My gods..." Sherlock was lost in the moment. He didn't care if his suit was wrinkled, he barely cared more whether he could be heard through the bedroom door. God forbid if Ms. Hudson was still in attendance downstairs. She'd be blushing by now. John moaned as Sherlock hit the sweetest spot at just the right angle continuously. He had at least gotten a moment to remove his button down and lay it across the back of the chair in the living room. His trousers and perfectly tousled hair were another story.

Sherlock's fingers tightened within the entwines of the sheet beside John's shoulders. John's finger had slipped inside of him as he made love to him and was stroking him mercilessly to Sherlock's own frantic rhythm. Sherlock was seeing stars, on some other plane of existence where pleasure transcended all time and space. He opened his eyes to stare down at the look of rapture upon John's face as the became lost in each other. Sherlock was close. John seemingly closer. Correct. John was closest. John dug his fingers into the curve of Sherlock's ass and plunged his finger in for one more stroke as he came upon his stomach and Sherlock's slightly undone purple shirt. Sherlock could hold back no longer. John was beautiful in this moment...in any moment actually, but when he was deep within his lover he could hold on no longer. He came hard and stilled himself afterwards, breathing deeply, matching John's racing heartbeat. John removed his fingers from their private place and he threw his hands around Sherlock's neck, pulling him down and kissing him sweetly. Sherlock glanced over at the clock beside the bed. "We're going to be late."

"For once, I really don't care." John breathed and kissed him once more. Sherlock smiled. A moment of fingers ruffling hair, a hand upon a hip, and they were upon each other for no other rhyme or reason. Now they would be at least 20 minutes late to their own rehearsal dinner. "Come on, we've got to get changed." John playfully rolled Sherlock off of him and pulled himself up off the bed to clean up. 15 minutes and two clothing changes later the couple were out the door and into the cab on their way to the hotel.

They entered the restaurant to the ecstatic cheers of their compatriots, Lestrade and Molly, the fellows from the stag party from Scotland Yard, a few personal friends of John, Harry, and surprisingly Mycroft. Each stood and came round to give the boys their hugs and how do you dos. Sherlock was also surprisingly compliant, to John's shock. Perhaps a quick roundabout before social gatherings is what's needed to make him a little more friendly. John laughed to himself before getting lost in conversation with his sister and her newest love interest. Ms. Firestone herself was also in attendance, coming out from the kitchen to welcome everyone and beg them to take their places. She looked stunning in a black sequined party dress, John noticed, but averted his eyes to Sherlock who met them from across the room. She no longer aroused any part of him, it seemed. Sherlock was all he needed.  
Ms. Firestone did in fact catch up to Sherlock as he made his way towards his seat. "So very nice that you arrived. We feared momentarily that you wouldn't make it." She smiled as she came close to him. Sherlock watched her, almost curiously. He felt the twinge of arousal within his trousers and he furrowed his brow. He could smell her sweet perfume upon her as she neared him. The feeling was naggingly familiar. He reached into his pocket and removed an item he'd packed only on a whim. Ms. Firestone screamed out in surprise as he sprayed her with what could have easily been mistaken as insect repellent. The entire party stopped, all eyes upon the two that stood at the head of the table. Ms. Firestone looked liked a drowned rat, coughing and sputtering and looking at herself in shock. "What the bloody fuck was that all about?" She cried as her girlish charm disappeared to reveal a smoldering anger.

"Pheremone infused perfume, Ms. Firestone. I've encountered it before, although in a different form. As I was experiencing a similar reaction to the one my fiance had when he hired you the other day, i figured I'd counteract it before it created a rather embarrassing need to disappear from this lovely rehearsal dinner for a few more moments. We've missed far too much already." Sherlock spouted in his way. Not a word was said. John looked on in what could only be described as fascination. "I imagine you were the same woman that Ms. Adler ran out of John's room the other night as Lestrade mentioned that he hadn't hired any strippers for the party and even Adler didn't know you, or wasn't telling." Ms. Firestone's eyebrows raised in even more surprise at Sherlock's spot on guess.

"Wait, what? Irene Adler?" Mycroft stood at once, wondering whatever in the world his brother could be going on about as he had last known her to be beheaded by some terrorist group in the desert somewhere unimportant. 

"I believe this means you're fired, Ms. Firestone. You can report back to your boss that we won't be needing your services any longer." Sherlock frowned at her and walked calmly away, replacing the spray can of whatever it was he'd concocted within his pocket and taking his place at the table beside John. He waved Mycroft away at the repeated questions pertaining to Ms. Adler. Ms. Firestone disappeared. The staff began to deliver the main course.

"You're just letting her go?" John asked quietly as they began to eat their salad. 

"Yes."

"Surprisingly nice of you."

"She's no harm anymore. She couldn't get into your pants, even with you bound and drugged. Moriarty I'm sure will deal with her."

"Custody might have been kinder, Sherlock."

"Since when have I been known to have a heart?" Sherlock gazed at John. John only smiled. The two continued to enjoy their get together, forgetting Ms. Firestone completely.

The night continued on this way, the guests enjoying course after course of Mr. Brandson's delightful food. It wasn't until just before dessert that a staff member delivered to John and Sherlock a card. John opened it, and nearly choked upon his champagne. "What is it?" Sherlock asked, concerned. John handed it over.

Ever heard the tale of Snow White? This fairytale wedding deserves a fairytale ending. Beware your poisoned apple or you could spend an eternity waiting for Prince Charming to give you true love's kiss. 

The card was embossed in gold writing with the above written within, and an illustration of Snow White lying on a marble slab, Prince Charming seemingly not in attendance.

"What he bloody..." John commented. "Are you Snow White or am I the damsel in distress? Again?" John stated annoyed. 

"Not completely sure." Sherlock answered. 

The next course was upon them. Everyone seemed eager to dig in. "No! Everyone stop what you're doing!" Sherlock stood and shouted over the table at all who sat around it. Everyone stopped and stared. John yelled out at the staff to bring the chef out at once. The staff member scurried off and returned with Mr. Brandson in tow. 

"Is there a problem with the food, Mr. Holmes?" He asked politely.

"It's poisoned. What have you done to it?" Sherlock angrily questioned. The chef looked unphased.

"It most certainly is not poisoned."

"Then take a bite. Prove it." Sherlock dared the man. The chef regarded him closely for a moment before approaching the table and picking up a fork. He took a bite out of the dessert he himself had prepared and ate it in front of them all. He swallowed it down and stood there, unamused, for what seemed like minutes. When nothing happened, Sherlock began to blush. "I apologize. I just received word that someone may have been trying to sabatoge our rehearsal dinner."

"Sounds a bit like paranoia, Mr. Holmes." Mr. Brandson shook his head and turned to go back into the kitchen. 

"I'm-" Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm sorry." He called after the chef he'd just insulted and sat back down. Everyone had begun to eat their dessert, the entertainment clearly over. 

"It's okay, Sherlock. You can't be too careful." John answered. "Perhaps its metaphorical. You know how Moriarty is." 

"Perhaps you're right." Sherlock spoke softly but pushed away his dessert just the same. John ate his without any objection, finding it delicious and satisfying on top of the entire meal. 

The party ended with many hugs and excited talk of the nuptuals the following day. Sherlock and John ventured home and entered the flat laughing and talking. They were tired, but perhaps not tired enough to just go to bed and sleep. Perhaps a shower was in order.

"I just can't seem to get enough of you lately." John whispered as they walked through the kitchen. Sherlock pulled open the fridge, taking hold of a cake that Ms. Hudson had left for them for later on and biting into it. 

"And I the same." Sherlock smiled as he chewed. Suddenly, he felt faint, weird, fuzzy. He glanced about the room. Something wasn't right. John turned to see him stumble a bit.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not-" Sherlock answered. Out of curiousity, in his moment of confusion, he opened the fridge door and looked in at the plate upon which the cakes sat. In the middle of the plate sat an apple with I O U carved familiarly into it. Bloody hell. Sherlock thought as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the floor. "Sherlock!" He heard John scream as he hit the floor and blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So the rehearsal dinner thingy turned out differently than originally in my head but I like this better. Fairytale wedding it is! In less than 24 hours and now Sherlock's gotten himself into something. Again.
> 
> Hope you all are still enjoying the story. :) I enjoy the fact that so many of you still read it and look forward to the next chapter. 
> 
> Next chapter: What was in the cake? Is Sherlock asleep or will there be a funeral instead of a wedding? John springs into action next chapter!
> 
> I love you all! Keeping you in suspense until next Tuesday. Or Wednesday it seems to keep turning out. :(


	81. Chapter 81

John sat, eyes burning, hands clasped in front of his lips, elbows resting on the morgue slab as he observed his fiance laid out upon it. The metal was ice cold and unfeeling, much like John himself at the moment. Molly lingered behind him, wanting to reach out and comfort him but not knowing how. John was a different breed. A wounded animal of his kind could bite. Molly restrained herself.

Sherlock lay upon the morgue slab a deathly pale, naked, except for the sheet that covered the lower half of him. Molly had been instructed by Lestrade and the whole of Scotland Yard to perform an immediate autopsy so as to quickly catch what and then who was responsible for this infraction. John had refused, adamantly at that, but the longer he stared at the body of his genius lover the more hope he was beginning to lose. Everything had been so perfect, such a perfect night...why couldn't we just be left alone to be happy? Just this once... John felt the tears rising up once more within his eyes and he blinked them back half in vain. Sherlock looked peaceful, almost too peaceful for a dead man upon the slab. He didn't look all that dead, and in that thought John held onto hope.

"It's a trick, Molly. Always a trick. It can't just be a simple poisoning." John choked as he spoke. Molly said nothing at first. "There's a trick, always a magic trick..."

"You believe this was Moriarty's doing? As it usually is?" Molly asked, speaking gingerly. John shook his head.

"It's always Moriarty, evil in one form or another. Simply poisoning Sherlock wouldn't be enough for him." John answered sitting back in the chair, continuing to stare on at Sherlock, unbreathing and still upon the cold metal table.

"Moriarty is a mad man though, John. Perhaps he finally snapped and just did away with Sherlock, tired of toying with him." Molly answered and John swung around and up out of the chair, startling her.

"No, Moriarty put a bloody bullet in his head on top of this hospital before Sherlock faked his death and jumped from the top of it. These two are so god damned theatrical it's sickening. He's not dead, Molly. I'll put fucking money on that." John turned, walking up to Sherlock and stroking his cold cheek. He then began to pace about the room, thinking hard, trying to remember the last hours...the last few days... He strode over to Sherlock's clothing and effects and rifled through them. The card that had been received at the rehearsal dinner fell to the floor and John retrieved it. Snow White... John stared long and hard at the card, hoping for some clue, some note. Molly wandered near.

"Where did you get that?" Molly asked.

"It came to Sherlock at the dinner. That's why he caused all the fuss about the dessert because he feared everyone was going to be poisoned." John answered. "What's the fucking answer though? Obviously Sherlock is Snow White. Sleeping Beauty, whatever the fuck Moriarty is getting at..."

"Well that would make you the Prince, John. It's up to you to wake him up, if there is indeed a way to do that.." Molly sighed. "I've seen too many things with you boys to think there isn't a way."

"How is she woken in the stories again?" John asked, a light seeming to go off within his head.

"The Prince gives her true love's kiss and she awakens." Molly answered.

John rushed over and frantically laid his warm lips upon Sherlock's cold ones. He waited. No movement, no warmth, nothing. John tried it again. Still nothing. "Bloody fuck." John started to tear up again. Then he stopped. "Pheromone infused perfume..." John began to think that perhaps Ms. Firestone's entire involvement was a clue in itself. "I've got to go." John turned and pointed an accusatory finger at Molly. "Do NOT touch him until I've returned, I don't bloody care what your boyfriend tells you."

Molly simply nodded as John grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

John returned less than an hour later. He threw off his coat into the floor and hurried to Sherlock's side to make sure that he hadn't been touched. Molly sat and watched over her friend's body in her startling white lab coat, and rose only as John entered. "Thank you, Molly." John nodded his thanks and she gave him a smile, understanding his anger was not towards her. She stepped aside as John stepped up to the table and pulled the chapstick from his pocket. "This is a fucking longshot but I'm willing to try anything. Pheromone infused perfume, pheromone infused beauty products...I don't know what else to try. John quickly applied a thick layer of the chapstick to his lips and hovered over Sherlock for a moment. Gods, please let this work... He leaned down and kissed Sherlock sweetly. He waited a good thirty seconds before releasing his lips and stood up, glancing down at his fiance.

No movement, not even a twitch. Sherlock's skin remained cold and pale. John felt his heart breaking within his ribcage. "I don't understand." He set down the chapstick and leaned across Sherlock's body in an awkward embrace. Had he really lost Sherlock? Had Moriarty just snapped and allowed him to be killed off in such a simple fashion just for the hell of it? It was seeming that way.

"John?" Molly asked tentatively behind him. "Try it again." Molly was handing the chapstick back to him.

"It's no use, Molly." John sobbed.

"It clicked when I turned it the opposite way. It's changed colors..." Molly motioned for him to take the tube and John complied. He noticed that the clear white had now taken on a greenish tint. He applied it once more, noting a chemical taste and laid his lips for the last time on Sherlock's.

Nothing.

Something...was that warmth or just the chemical reacting on his lips?

Definitely something, Sherlock's lips were moving. They were reacting to John's lips upon them. And with a gasp from a watching Molly there were long able fingers intertwining within John's hair. John's eyes flew open in surprise and joy as he looked down into Sherlock's own icey blue eyes. Sherlock refused to break the kiss. John allowed it to continue. Neither knew when Molly had silently slipped out the morgue doors and locked them behind her. John could thank her later.

Sherlock was tugging gently on John's hair as he kissed, slipping his tongue in between his lips and pulling John on top of his as he did so. John finally broke free. "You're alive..."

"John..." Sherlock sighed as he sat upon the table, the sheet still covering his nether regions but quickly receding as Sherlock pulled the sheet away and revealed his willingness. Oh, that's right. The chapstick causes lustful reactions, even when reviving dead people. John thought this an awakward explanation but didn't question it. Sherlock was already working on his jumper. John reached down between Sherlock's legs and took hold of him, already hot and hard and wanton for him. John assisted Sherlock in his somewhat weakened state and stripped down to nothing before climbing on top of Sherlock upon the table. The fact that they were naked together upon a morgue autopsy table did nothing to ruin either of their moods.

Sherlock pulled him down once more into a needful kiss, his member pressing needfully into John's stomach. John was beginning to throb as well, perhaps from the adrenaline rush and the lustful sounds Sherlock was moaning as they kissed. John prepared Sherlock with two gentle fingers which only escalated the pleasureful moans escaping his throat. Before long John was deep inside him and Sherlock was crying out his name as he began to thrust. They became lost in each other, John trying his best to draw out their love making but finding it considerably hard due in part to Sherlock biting into his shoulder and digging his fingers into John's ass with the occasionally flitting finger over John's opening just to tease. John lasting long enough to Sherlock to come before allowing himself to peak like a tidal wave and bury himself deep within his lover. He rode his orgasm out laying his head upon Sherlock's heaving chest.

Minutes past. Sherlock sighed. John smiled. "I love you." Sherlock whispered and kissed the top of John's head lovingly.

John glanced up, meeting the eyes he knew all too well. "I love you too." Sherlock smiled. "You do know you've been clinically dead for about 12 hours?"

"Apparently I needed the rest." Sherlock sighed and laid his head back. His eyebrows came together in their confused crinkle as he stared at the ceiling. "Are we-"

"St. Bart's morgue." John raised up and righted himself, sitting on the edge of the table and not caring about the coldness of it as he did so. Their bodies were still burning with the heat of their lovemaking.

"Really?" Sherlock sat up and looked about. "Well of all the places to..." He winked at John and smiled just as the door clicked and swung open. John barely had enough time to grab the sheet that had slid to the floor as Lestrade strode in with Molly close behind.

Lestrade didn't miss a beat. "Ah, well, good to see you aren't dead and that you're at least feeling spry."

John blushed, although he didn't entirely know why. "The chapstick had a hidden chemical that apparently reverses the effects of whatever was in the cake. Molly found it." John motioned back to Molly who was silently gathering Sherlock's clothing and bringing it to him.

"Good news is at least we won't be missing the wedding." Sherlock grinned and brought John in for another kiss. Lestrade rolled his eyes and put his arm about Molly, leading her into her office. "Suppose we get dressed and start this party?"

"Brilliant." John replied.

I apologize immensely for the long wait you've all had to endure. I've recently been having heart problems and haven't been strong enough to focus or write this fanfiction so it is entirely my fault. Now that I'm having tests down and on medication I'm hoping I can resume this story on a weekly basis. Bear with me.

Next chapter, we have a Johnlock wedding! Hope to see you all there. :) Please review this chapter. I've missed you all!


	82. Chapter 82

TV Shows » Sherlock » You Do Count  
Author: sarahouse85   
Rated: M - English - Hurt/Comfort/Romance - Reviews: 274 - Published: 03-12-13 - Updated: 06-24-14 id:9092546  
Neither of the couple could have asked for a more perfect and beautiful day for their wedding. The guests gathered, if not out of being invited then out of sheer curiosity following Sherlock's so-called "death", the second of which he'd survived. Everyone was in their finest, sitting outside in the white chairs provided on the well manicured lawn of the estate the two had chosen to marry on. Ushers brought people to their seats and Mr. Brandson's crew handed out refreshing drinks that all the guests were currently sipping on.

John was currently in his room fixing his tie. Molly and mrs. Hudson stood behind him admiring his silhouette. John couldn't help but smile at Mrs. Hudson's nearly endless line of conversation and compliments as she gushed over the wedding and the two of them. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Really." John interjected.

"Oh love! I'm just so happy!" She churtled and then began to sob with tears of happiness. Molly stepped up and gave her a reassuring hug. "It's okay, dear. I'm fine. I'm just so happy for the two of them." She smiled through her tears.

"Come now, I'll show you to your seat. It'll be starting soon." Molly smiled and Mrs. Hudson nodded as Molly escorted her out and gave John a smile. He smiled back. Suddenly he was alone in the room with his thoughts. He wondered what would befall them here. Sherlock had narrowly escaped death this time, and only because John had realized what was happening before it was too late to save him. He bucked up, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"Not today. Today is going to be fine. It's going to be fine." John told himself and tried to work some of his old army behaviors on himself. It was hard but he almost began to feel better. Molly popped back in moments later.

"It's almost time." She smiled and stepped up as he adjusted his jacket. "You look amazing, John." She helped with his white rose in his pocket. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." John said and offered his arm as they exited the room. He felt the butterflies of excitement building up within his stomach as they walked down to where they were to stand.

Sherlock had been roaming about the gathering, people watching. He too was wondering what would happen, if anything, during their nuptuals. Lestrade followed him and watched. He came up behind him and slapped him on the back. "Oy! What are you up to?" He asked and laughed.

"Merely observing, Gary." Sherlock said absentmindedly. He squinted and shook his head. "Greg. I'm sorry. Greg."

"Forgivable this time, Sherlock. It's your wedding." Lestrade chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. The music was changing and Lestrade listened. "Come on then. Let's take our places." He pulled Sherlock towards the altar. He now took the time to fully take it all in. Everyone sitting in their airy clothing, sipping champagne or the like. The trail of petals down the aisle. The large archway made with drapery beneath the large tree that had been growing for what seemed like eons on the estate that John had chosen as the focal point of their union. Each guest had placed a charm of some sort to be hung in the tree, as it now jingled and chimed with windchimes, ribbons, pictures, and ornaments of all kinds. Sherlock had enjoyed this idea, out of all of John's ideas for the wedding. He stepped up onto the platform and Lestrade stood slightly below and beside him as best men do. "Try not to pass out? Don't lock your knees no matter how nervous you are." Lestrade whispered to him.

The music changed once more. Sherlock's mouth went dry. He was nervous being on display in front of so many people. He glanced down the aisle as the soft music began to play and John came in to view. He looked very dapper in his suit with lavender trimmings an the white rose that matched Sherlock's in his breast pocket. Sherlock was nervous only up to the point where John strode towards him with Molly guiding him in her beautiful lavender dress. The crowd made hushed compliments as John walked down the aisle.

Molly turned at the alter to give John a kiss on the cheek and sweet words of encouragement before taking her spot opposite of Lestrade. John met Sherlock's eyes and smiled in his friendly comforting way. Sherlock extended his hand to him and he took it as he joined him at the alter. Sherlock barely heard the words that were said from the officiate. He could only look at John. His only constant in his ever changing world. John listened to the vows but he eventually met Sherlock's eyes and smiled. When John smiled, his eyes smiled as well.

"Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock was brought back. "Vows?" he said softly.

"Ah, yes. Sorry." He searched his pocket and found the paper that he'd tucked away there. He met his eyes again and chuckled. "John Watson. You have saved my life countless times and in so many ways. Eternity would never be long enough to ever repay what you have done for me. I hope that a lifetime beside me as my husband will give me time to scratch the surface. I-" He swallowed hard. John glimpsed tears within his eyes and he softened more. "Those who know me as close as you do know that when I say these words I mean them wholeheartedly as I am not one for sentiment or the like." Sherlock took John's hands. "I love you. I devote myself to you in every way and for the rest of my life." Awws came from the crowd.

The officiate turned to John and nodded. John didn't need to pull out a piece of paper. "From the moment I set foot in that lab and offered to let you use my cellphone I knew we were destined for something. Trouble, bliss, wasn't quite sure what. But destined to share in something in the future. I am proud to say that I will soon be able to call the bravest, wisest man I know my husband. I love you, Sherlock." John smiled and squeezed his hands lovingly. Sherlock stared, touched by John's words and unable to reply without possibly showing emotion. "It's okay..." John mouthed.

"Do you, Sherlock Holmes, take this man to be your husband?" The officiate asked.

"I do." Sherlock quickly replied with a tear filled smile.

"And do you, John Hamish Watson, take this man to be your husband?"

"I bloody well do." John said holding back his own emotion. The two exchanged rings.

"I now pronounce you man and man. You may kiss." The officiate smiled and motioned with his hands. John and Sherlock had not been so private in public before. Sherlock couldn't contain his happiness. he took John's face in his hands softly and pulled him in for a loving kiss. The crowd cheered, clapped and toasted with the drinks in their hands.

John eventually broke the kiss and led Sherlock back down the aisle by his hand. Sherlock followed quickly beside him. Before long they were back inside John's dressing room. John took only long enough to lock the door behind him before he was back kissing Sherlock's lips. Sherlock stumbled backwards and onto the couch behind him where he pulled John down on top of him in a passionate embrace. They had done it. They were officially married. Sherlock was beyond ecstatic.

John wanted him more than ever and almost lost all willpower. He had, in fact, started the makeout session. He stopped for a moment. "Sherlock, as much as I'd love a go around at the moment, we should wait. Honeymoon." His chest was heaving and his blood was up.

Sherlock only gazed at him and touched his cheek lovingly. "I love you."

John smiled. "I love you too."

"No, John. Those words. I mean them as if my very life depend on it. I love you. I've NEVER told anyone that before." Sherlock stated. This was true.

"I know." John breathed and kissed him again. He was ravenous. He wanted his husband. He broke the kiss again. "Come on. Let's get the rest of this over with so we can be on our way." He stood up and fixed his hair and his tie. Sherlock rose slowly and did the same. He pulled John into a loving, relieved embrace. "Just remember. You'll be surrendering that middle name of yours tonight." He whispered. Sherlock groaned softly at the thought. "Irene couldn't make you beg, not even once. Perhaps I can." John finished and started off towards the reception. Sherlock was momentarily blushed with color before he followed.

The reception was just as lavish as the ceremony had been. He was set opposite the altar and the wedding ceremony, under the huge boughs of the tree with its glittering and jingling chimes. Sherlock found it relaxing. Mr. Brandson approached him. "Very nice ceremony, Mr. Holmes. Congratulations." He smiled.

"Thank you. Thank you for the delightful food and drink as well." Sherlock eyed the man cautiously. "The cake will be up soon. Will this be as fabulous as the rest of the meal?"

"But of course, sir. Always save the best for last." Mr. Brandson smiled and bowed out to go and tend to his business. Sherlock watched after him.

The cake cutting ceremony resulted in a mess of cake in Sherlock and John's hair and on their faces. John had thought it funny to smoosh some of the large 5 tier white chocolate cake into Sherlock's face when he thought he was getting a kiss. The crowd had gone wild. Sherlock was only momentarily stunned before letting John have it. The resulting cake fight was glorious. Now as the crowd sat and listened to Lestrade's best man speech the crowd indulged themselves on the exceptionally rich dessert. Mr. Brandson watched. The crowd cheered as Lestrade finished and both John and Sherlock hugged him tightly in their thanks and friendship.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen. Let us give thanks to our caterer and his crew for their amazing presentation." Sherlock stepped up in front of everyone and motioned for Mr. Brandson to step forward. The man looked momentarily put out but then followed his instruction and came to stand next to Sherlock. John watched him with a smile. The crowd cheered and clapped. "How was the cake? Amazing no? Luckily I had an early taste test of this delightful dessert. Unfortunately for me it put me in the morgue for a few days." Sherlock shrugged. The crowd went silent. "Oh yes, Mr. Brandson was kind enough to leave a piece for me to try in my fridge. All it took was one bite and, well, the wedding was momentarily off."

The crowd was muttering, horrified. They had all just indulged in the cake. Screams were beginning to erupt. "Calm down, calm down." Sherlock looked slightly annoyed but he was on a roll. "That lovely champagne spritzer that you were served as you arrived counteracted any poison that would have by now surely killed you." Sherlock explained.

"I have not poisoned anyone Mr. Holmes!" Mr. Brandson looked shocked to be the center of this debacle. "You make a liar of yourself at your own wedding!"

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked as Molly brought him round a piece of the cake. "Indulge us then. Have a piece yourself." Sherlock offered it. The man stared at the cake and shook his head, angered. "Do it or I'll have you arrested on suspicion." Sherlock nodded at Lestrade. Lestrade only watched in awe. Sherlock never disappointed.

"Mr. Brandson swiped the cake from Sherlock's hand and took a small bite. After a few moments he smiled in triumph. Then the man collapsed besides Sherlock, the cake flying and smearing about him as he did. The crowd gasped. "Quite alright everyone. The spritzer reverses and prevents any reaction to Mr. Brandson's clever poison. Lestrade, if you don't mind." Sherlock pointed at the unconscious man at his feet. Lestrade jumped up and came over, motioning to a few of the men from Scotland Yard.

"You couldn't have filled me in on this beforehand?!" Lestrade whispered through gritted teeth. Sherlock only smirked. He took another glass off the champagne as Lestrade's men dragged off Mr. Brandson. "You're all perfectly safe. So let us toast to a little murder mystery reception and John and my future happiness as newlyweds." Sherlock smiled. The crowd was quiet at first. Mycroft shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose but soon there was clapping as they all toasted with him.

An hour later Sherlock and John left through the throwing of birdseed and flower petals to their limousine. They sat inside, catching their breaths and watching the cheering outside. "Clever man, you are, John Watson." Sherlock smiled and took his hand.

"That's John Watson Holmes now." John corrected with a wink. "You were the one who knew of the chemicals."

"You were the one that figured out how to bring me back to 'life'." Sherlock offered.

"You were the one who had the idea to 'vaccinate' everyone to Mr. Brandson's poison."

"But you were the one who knew how to convert it to a tasteless form that could be ingested-" Sherlock was cut off with a kiss.

"Save it. We both did good." John smiled and sighed. "Where to now?"

"Ireland for a week." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. John was agreeable. "And here's to discovering the only real mystery left between us." John wrinkled his brow. "That pesky middle name of mine." Sherlock sighed and looked out the window. John chuckled.

I apologize for the gigantic wait everyone has had for those that are still interested in my story. I hope the wedding was done well, and I am going to make the newlyweds honeymoon one to remember. Please comment. Let me know what you all think or what you would possibly like to see happen in the future. I love you all!


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